


Socially Acceptable

by DarklyDreamingDixon



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Anal Sex, Cock & Ball Torture, Coming Untouched, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exhibitionism, Falling In Love, Flogging, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Innocence, M/M, Master/Slave, Nipple Clamps, Nonverbal Communication, Obedience, Objectification, Oral Sex, Ownership, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Sex in a lake, Sorta non-con since the slaves don't have a choice about what they are raised for, Teaching, Teasing, There will be Plot, Thumb-sucking, Tickling, Watersports, Whipping, Writing on Skin, and there will be emotions, fluff (believe it or not)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-21 04:59:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 39,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6039163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarklyDreamingDixon/pseuds/DarklyDreamingDixon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where sexual slavery is not only acceptable, but expected, Rick Grimes is gifted his first slave for his 18th birthday.  His new slave, Daryl, was bred and born to be a slave.  He was never taught to talk, read or write, like all slaves who are raised to serve.  Rick is ambivalent about the slave culture around him, but he knows it's expected to have a trained, obedient slave in order to succeed after university.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will have multiple chapters. I have an outline and several chapters written.

“You will probably all have your first slaves by the time you graduate university,” Mr. Walsh said. “Most parents give a slave for a graduation gift or even an 18th birthday present. Does anyone in this class already have one?”

Several of the kids around Rick raised their hands while Rick doodled intricate drawings of a castle on the bottom of his notebook.

“Ah. Good. Let me have you guys start the discussion then. Gareth, what do you currently use your slave for?”

“Like you mean chores? Or like his body?” The kid with blond hair asked.

“Either. Both. How did you start out the first day when you received him?”

Gareth shrugged. “Well, I was super excited. Mostly fucked him. Both holes. Learned a little about prep. He was kinda useless the rest of the first week.”

“That's a great point,” Mr. Walsh said, clicking on the overhead projector. Rick looked up to see two side-by-side photos of rear ends with open holes. One was bleeding, raw and infected, the other had been worked wide open and looked completely eager to receive its owner’s cock. The second one made Rick's cock stir.

“As you can see there’s a right way and a wrong way to do this. And these are our slaves, yes. They are bred and born to serve us. It's their mission in life to please us and bring us any comfort we desire, but if we don't take care of them properly, they won't be of very much use, will they?”

Rick tuned out as he continued to draw. He never was much interested in discussions about slaves. They had a house slave, Eric. He prepared all Rick's meals since as long as he could remember. Cleaned the house, did the wash, bathed Rick still to this day. Rick's dad, Tobin, fucked him at random times and without much warning. Rick fucked him too sometimes. Started when he was 16 like most kids. Rick knew it was polite behavior to watch whenever he was caught in a room with a master and slave fucking, but more often than not he would walk out and catch hell about it later.

He was better at sticking to societal norms in public, like the time he saw a more sadistic master order his naked slave to place his cock on the table at a restaurant and then repeatedly used the end of a heavy pepper mill to whack at it. Rick had been maybe 15 at the time and he watched, tilting his head in curiosity. The slave whimpered and whined but never once winced or tried to pull away. This was his life and he'd fully accepted it. Afterwards, Rick saw them again in the men's room, the slave straddling the urinal, while the master pissed on his chest.

The master looked proud as Rick watched. “Interesting use of a slave,” Rick had said. “Doesn't it make the car smell on the way home, though?”

The master patted Rick's hair. “Nah, he rides in the bed of the truck. Here, you can use him, too,” the man offered with a wave of his hand. “You're close to age. Be getting your own slave soon, I imagine.”

Rick knew to be polite. His daddy was in the restaurant and he didn't want this man to tattle on him for not accepting an offer to use his slave. That is frowned upon. Rick unzipped and pulled his dick out, pissing on the slave’s dick. As he did he tilted his head and tried to read the slave's expression.

“Do they ever look at you?” Rick asked noticing that the slave's eyes remained glued on the floor. 

“They do what you tell them, kid. Slave- look at the boy.”

Rick saw absolutely nothing in the man's eyes. He was older, probably forty, so if he was bought at eighteen, he was probably used to his owner’s desires. 

Rick was pulled out of his memories by the sound of the bell. It was his eighteenth birthday and he wondered for the first time if his father was going to make him get his own slave instead of always using Eric. 

“Ok, class. Next week we will talk about why and how slaves don't talk. It's really interesting stuff about the way they are trained. Did you know they can never learn to speak even if their master’s register them for freedom? It has to do with the part of the brain used for speech. There's only a small window for the human brain to learn this.” Shane shouted over the dull murmur of students packing up backpacks and leaving.

Registering for freedom, Rick thought. That was something he hadn't yet ever heard of and suddenly he was actually looking forward to Ownership 101 on Monday.


	2. Chapter 2

That night Eric served dinner as Rick and his father talked about their days. It wasn't really very different than any other night. They all blurred together, really. 

When Rick was done eating he set about his daily chore to feed their slave. He filled the water bowl and clunked it down on the floor, water spilling around it. “Get the water I spilled first,” Rick said without much thought as he pulled the dried slave food from the closet. He dumped it into the bowl and set the bowl down. “Hurry up. I wanna go read my new book,” Rick said as he leaned against the counter, waiting so that he could let Eric out to go to the bathroom. 

When the slave was done eating, Rick let him out in the yard. The slave walked straight to the area at the far end of the lawn and knelt down, cocking his leg to pee. Rick heard his father walk into the living room with a rattle of newspaper and he felt Tobin’s eyes on him as he watched after Eric. “You do a good job taking care of him, son.”

Rick looked at his father and shrugged as he waited. As Eric wiggled his body to shake off any drips, Rick asked, “Why do they pee like that? Isn't it easier to stand?” 

“Nothing's supposed to be easy for a slave,” Tobin explained. “They are trained from birth not to touch themselves so standing wouldn't work at all if they couldn't aim. This is how they're taught.” Rick let Eric back in, excited to get back to his new book, a fiction story about archeology. 

“Eric, I need to be bathed,” Rick ordered. Rick liked showering at night and being all clean against his freshly washed sheets as he slept. Eric washed all the bed sheets daily since more often than not there would be come on both Rick's and his father’s from there nightly use of the house slave.

Tobin cleared his throat from behind his newspaper. “What's the hurry, son?”

“I wanna climb into bed and read my new book.”

“Eric, feet,” Tobin bellowed and Eric crawled on hands and knees to the front of the couch so Tobin could put his feet up on his slave’s back. “I'm not done with him for the evening. Why don't you keep me company for a while? You haven't even mentioned your birthday. Eighteen. Did you think I'd forgotten?”

Rick shrugged. “Kinda.”

“Well, I haven't. I have reservations for us at Francisco's tomorrow night.” He smiled proudly as Rick slumped into a chair with the arts and literature section of the paper. 

“Cool, thanks,” he said. It was only a few more minutes before Rick realized that his father was going to fuck the slave and Rick was sitting there already stuck and knowing he’d have to stay. He thought about walking out, but he was a man now and should be more respective of proper culture. He didn't want his entire dinner tomorrow to be a lecture. So he watched as his father folded the newspaper and ordered his slave to get himself ready.

Eric sucked on his fingers and worked them into his hole while still holding himself up with Tobin’s shoes resting on his back.

“I usually prefer using lube for that.” Rick said, immediately regretting that he was engaging in conversation about slave use. 

His father nodded as he put the folded newspaper aside. “Yes, that’s always an option. But if nothing’s around, this works just fine.” He pulled his feet off of Eric and got his cock out. “Eric up.”

Eric stood and Tobin turned him so that he faced away. The slave was as hard as Tobin was. “You gonna let him come?”

“Haven’t decided yet, but I’m pleased to hear you asking questions. I worry sometimes if you will end up socially awkward. My friend’s sons all seem so much more interested than you.” Rick’s father encouraged the slave to sit on his dick, swallowing it with his eager entrance and then Eric continued to sit up and down on Tobin’s cock.

“What do you mean? I fuck him plenty.”

Tobin leaned back and folded his arms behind his back as his slave pumped him with his ass. “You’re just not as excited about it as most kids are.”

Rick shrugged as his father let out an initial groan. “Ok, on the floor slave, don’t want you dripping on the floor so I’ll come in your mouth.”

Eric quickly lifted off, turned, knelt and opened his mouth. Rick’s father grabbed him by the hair and fucked his face til Tobin groaned again and came. After he did, he grabbed his newspaper again and said “Eric, feet!” and the slave resumed his position as foot rest, his cock hanging huge and forgotten between his legs. Rick had always been amazed at a slave's control over orgasm.

Rick thought he might be able to casually slip out to go back and read his book but just as he was planning his departure there was a knock at the door. Unexpected guests were unusual, but Tobin didn't seem surprised.

“I wonder what that could be!” he asked with an overly enthusiastic tone. “Eric, door.”

Rick and Tobin both rose and watched as Eric opened the door to a Fed Ex delivery guy. “I need your owner to sign for this,” a voice said from beyond the front door. Eric pulled the door wider to welcome in the delivery man and Rick’s eyes grew huge as a naked man in handcuffs and shackles was dragged in behind him. He was young, probably the same age as Rick. He had shaggy brown hair, broad shoulders, a narrow waist and he stood like all slaves, head bowed and eyes on the earth.

Rick looked to his father. “Is this for me?”

“Happy Birthday, Ricky,” he said as he signed a clipboard and took a user’s manual from the delivery man. The delivery guy unlocked the cuffs and shackles and left.

“Well, what do you think, buddy?” his father asked.

“Thanks. Do I have to feed them both now?”

“If you want them to live. Jesus, Rick. This is a big moment for you. You can train your slave however you want. He is a status symbol for you. A show of your power. You keep talking about being an architect? You need to start working on your reputation of confidence and strength. Professionals look at a man’s use of his slave and he is judged by that. If you are up for a job against someone who trained a more obedient slave, you will not get the job, buddy. You need to take this seriously.”

Rick shrugged. “No, I know. It’s cool, dad. I love it. He’s… he looks nice.”

“Nice?”

“You know what I mean. Like, I’d enjoy fucking him.”

Rick’s father slapped him on the back. “Well, now you know why I wanted you to wait. This is your slave. He’ll handle your bathing from now on. We’ll figure out how to split the household chores tomorrow. Tonight, just go ahead and read over the manual, try him out and get used to him. He’s yours and he’ll do anything you ask of him.”

“Cool,” Rick said as he flipped through the book and then looked at the sticker on the cover. “Says your name’s Daryl?” He looked at his new slave’s face. His eyes still glued to the ground below him.

“Look at me,” Rick said and Daryl’s eyes shot up. Rick cocked his head and looked into Daryl’s eyes. It wasn’t like the slave he saw in the bathroom when he was younger. This slave did have something behind his eyes. Thoughts and feelings. Rick could _see_ it. He wanted to know what Daryl was thinking. Was he scared? Nervous? Was he disappointed that his new master was a kid with no experience? 

“I need to bathe,” Rick said. “The bathroom’s down here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I very much appreciated the comments on the previous chapter and would love to hear your thoughts on this one. I'm writing this as I go. One of the comments mentioned looking forward to seeing more of Rick's lessons. I will be sure to include some of that in the future. Any of your thoughts would be lovely as I continue to write and may even serve as inspiration.


	3. Chapter 3

Once they were in the bathroom, Rick leaned against the counter. “I like the water hot.”

Daryl got on his knees and started the water. He stayed in place as it ran. “Guess I should show you around. Maybe tomorrow. It’s getting late.” Daryl didn’t respond at all and Rick wasn’t really surprised. Eric only responded to direct commands. Daryl did an ok job of washing Rick. He only had to correct him a few times. He seemed to listen well enough and Rick took the opportunity to look closer. He was really good looking. Rick tried not to look at slaves as potential mates before, but he was supposed to scrutinize his new property and there was no sense in denying that Daryl was attractive.

After Daryl towel dried him and helped him into his pajamas, he instructed his new slave to use the now-cooled water to clean himself off. Rick wasn't sure if this was the way to do it properly or not. He hadn't read the manual and he never had to worry about cleaning Eric. His father was in charge of that.

Rick instructed Daryl to get out and air dry. The slave stood looking to the floor as his skin goose pimpled from the cold of the water evaporating from his skin. Rick just looked at his body, told him and few times to turn around and started thinking about all the different things he’ll now be expected to do.

Back in his room, Rick grabbed his long awaited book and dived in, getting through three chapters before he looked up at Daryl who was standing at the doorway waiting for instruction to do anything other than that.

He looked pathetic. Hair still dripping wet from his bath. And so damned much younger than most of the slaves Rick had been exposed to. 

“Do you wanna, like, sit?” Rick asked. Daryl didn’t move and it dawned on Rick that he never gave Eric choices. He’d have to talk to Daryl the way he was used to talking the Eric, even though the dynamic would be very different. Growing up with your father’s slave was very different from taking ownership of one of your own.

“Daryl. Come here and sit at the end of the bed. You’re getting on my nerves with hovering.” 

Daryl moved like the personification of quiet to the end of Rick’s bed and sat indian style. Rick watched him for a few minutes and sighed heavy, putting down his novel and picking up the owner’s manual. He flipped through it to the Table of Contents:

1\. First Night with your slave  
2\. History (How your slave was born and raised)  
3\. Bathing and feeding  
4\. Communication  
5\. Deciding your will  
6\. Obedience Training  
....a) Service of the body  
....b) Service to the home  
....c) Reinforcing orgasm control  
....d) The benefits of pain control  
....e) Humiliation and understanding their place  
7\. Social constructs of slaves in the workplace

Rick looked back to Daryl. His eyes were downcast. Rick never paid much attention to what Eric did at any given moment, but Daryl was his. And there was something about being so close in age that made Rick wonder what things looked like through Daryl’s eyes. Rick tried his best to imagine it. Bored? Is he bored cause there’s nothing to do? Because Rick would be incredibly bored. 

“You want a book?” he asked.

Daryl’s face muscles twitched and he hesitated between a nod and a shake. 

“Ah for fuck’s sake,” Rick mumbled and he turned to the communications chapter and skimmed looking for tips. 

_Slaves have not been bred to have opinions or desires. Many first time owners grow frustrated with initial lines of questioning as they acclimate with their slave. You must command your slave to shake his head for “no “ or nod for “yes”. If your question is an opinion or a question about feelings, your slave will struggle to respond. The solution is usually not to ask the slave questions about what they want. Your new slave wants what you want, so enjoy!_

Rick shot his eyes back up at Daryl. “Look at me,” Rick commanded. Daryl lifted his head and held the contact even though it was clear it made him uncomfortable. Rick saw his adam’s apple bob nervously as he swallowed. His face was more expressive than any other slaves Rick had known, his eyebrows attempting not to forrow into question. 

“Answer me when I ask questions. Nod for yes and shake your head for no. This book says that you want what I want. Is that true?”

Daryl nodded his head.

“I _want_ to know if you would like to read a book.” 

Daryl’s head twitched again, his eyes staying on Rick even though it was clear he wanted desperately to look down. Rick cleared his throat after he remembered Mr. Walsh’s last lesson. “I forgot you can’t read. I have picture books still from when I was a kid. Kept some of my favorites. I want you to hold one and flip through it while I read, ok?”

Daryl nodded. Rick got up and dug out Goodnight Moon from the bottom of his bookshelf. It was old and worn. He handed it to Daryl and the slave took it in his lap the way Rick had been reading earlier and opened to the first page without being prompted. Rick watched him looking at the page. It was upside down. Even if he couldn’t read, he surely could tell the pictures were upside down, yet he still made no move to turn it. 

“Daryl. It’s upside down. Turn it around so the pictures are the right way. Then look at each page for two minutes and turn to the next page until you’re done.” Daryl turned the book so the pictures were right-sided.

Rick remembered his dad once talking about how a slave’s internal clock was finely tuned and that they served as better alarm clocks than actual alarm clocks. So Rick knew Daryl would know exactly how long two minutes was. Rick tossed the manual back on his nightstand and read a few more chapters of his novel.

When he closed it, he pulled Goodnight Moon out of Daryl’s hands. “Bend over the bed,” Rick commanded. It wasn’t _awkward_ to command. He did it with Eric all the time but it was different because Daryl was different. Rick wasn’t sure what he’d really know. So he tossed the lube on the bed and told him to get himself ready. 

Daryl inserted his own finger, clearly very well practiced and continued fingering himself open for his owner until he was three fingers deep and rock hard. Rick lubed himself up, grabbed Daryl's hips and started thrusting unceremoniously. Daryl was actually much tighter than Eric and Rick felt pleasure swelling in his belly instantly. This wasn't Eric. This was his. Rick’s. And for the first time, Rick felt the pleasure of that power. 

There wasn't really anything special about Rick's moment of taking complete ownership in this way. Rick fucked Daryl until he came deep inside him and Daryl took it in complete silence. Before Rick pulled out, he decided to try to be more aggressive about his ownership. Daryl was his and Rick should be trying to reinforce that. He reached for the nightstand drawer and pulled out an anal plug that he his dad had given him to use on Eric. When Rick was younger and just starting out, his father had given him the plug to open Eric easier and quicker but Rick never had him use it. 

But now, Rick started salivating at the idea of Daryl being plugged up with Rick’s seed inside. A symbolic way of showing Daryl who he belonged to. Rick slid out and shoved the plug in.

“Want you to hold on to my come for the night. Turn around and kneel and lick me clean, ok?”

Daryl did as instructed and then Rick crawled into bed, leaving Daryl on his knees. He flipped to the "First Night" section of his manual and skimmed to find bedtime.

_Your slave has not been pre-programmed with a sleep position. Most owners like to establish their own practice and train new slaves to sleep as the owner wishes. There are many devices available to stretch your slave so they lay flat and elongated or to bind them if you wish them to sleep curled up._

_Some owners enjoy having their slaves in bed, using bellies for a pillow or sleeping with their feet raised up on a slave kept at the bottom of the bed. Some like the cock warming position in which the owner’s cock rests gently in a slave’s mouth throughout the night._

_Some prefer their slaves to sleep on the floor. Some want them curled up so they don't take up too much space and that can be done using the binding instructions on the following page. It usually takes a new slave two weeks of binding to develop the proper sleeping habit. Some owners like their slave stretched and available. Either face up so the mouth is available for fucking and the cock is available to be beaten. Or face down, so the ass is available. Fucking a sleeping slave is a great joy to many owners!_

Rick put the book away and turned out the light. “Go to sleep on the floor and wake me at 8,” he said, and Daryl laid quietly down. 

Rick stirred around midnight and looked over the side of the bed to check on his slave. For a moment, his brain fogged with sleep, he wondered if he had dreamed the gift. But Daryl was beside the bed. His body was curled in on itself like his natural instinct was to make himself as small as possible and he had his thumb in his mouth like an infant. Rick stifled a laugh. That was baby stuff, what babies did for comfort. He watched Daryl for a few minutes and wondered it he got comfort out of sucking his thumb like a child. It would be odd if he did, Rick thought. Slaves weren't supposed to understand comfort. Rick wondered if he should allow the position or start training Daryl to sleep another way tomorrow. And then he wondered why the fuck it would matter to him how Daryl slept. He took a deep breath and sighed. God. He was going to be the worst master in human history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got lots of ideas for other ways people use slaves as I describe the world around Rick. If you have any ideas let me know!


	4. Chapter 4

_Rick was on a ship. No, a sailboat. The seas were rough and he was on his knees so he wouldn't fall. He looked up at the sound of thunder and saw that instead of a sail, it was Daryl. Strung up so that his feet came together and his arms were pulled out to his sides, looking like Jesus on the cross. Thunder and the sound of waves were loud, but Rick tried to shout over them from his knees. “Daryl. Look at me.”_

_But he couldn't because his slave had no eyes._

Rick bolted awake from his dream, panicked for a moment and then comforted instantly as he felt Daryl's mouth warm and wet, wrapped around his cock waking him at 8 sharp, just like Rick had ordered. Eric slept in Rick's father’s room so he never had the luxury of this kind of wake up call until now with his very own slave. 

Daryl held himself in an awkward position, standing on the floor and leaning over, careful to keep his body from touching the covers. Rick guessed it was because he didn't have permission or instruction to be on his owner’s bed. “Daryl. Kneel on the bed so you can be closer”. Daryl obeyed. After another few minutes of sucking with a suction that was miles better than Eric, Rick whispered, “Look at me.”

Daryl looked up, through dark eyelashes, licking and sucking on Rick like his life depended on receiving the come from Rick's heavy balls. Daryl spoke with his eyes. He was young and new and hadn't grown the glazed look yet that so many slaves have. Daryl's eyes, the furrow of his brow, it spoke of the desire to please. Not for Rick's sake but for Daryl's own. Daryl wanted to be good. Rick could see it in him. 

“You’re doing such a good job, Daryl,” Rick said as he brushed some hair out of his slaves eyes. At the sound of praise, Daryl's eyes lit up, from dark storm blue to parting clouds on a summer day. He liked to hear Rick's praise. Not because his job was to please Rick, but because he was glad to be doing so well. Rick knew this was true. He could see it. Daryl was his. Belonged to him. Rick owned every part of him from the inside of his ass to the blush running down his cheeks and neck. The growing rush of power and pleasure finally convened in an explosion and Rick came hard.

As Daryl licked him clean, Rick closed his eyes to soak in the feeling of waking up like this. Feeding and caring for Daryl didn't seem like as much of a chore if he could wake like this each day. “Just keep it in your mouth a while til I'm ready to get up,” Rick said as he stretched and yawned.

He let himself be lazy for a few minutes before getting up, his spent cock kept warm in Daryl's mouth. His birthday dinner would be this evening. Francisco's was his favorite place and he really was excited to hear of the reservations, but he was nervous. He would be out in public with his new slave while his father judged him. He would have to spend some time in the afternoon working with Daryl.

Eventually Rick got up and ordered Daryl to dress him for the day. They went to the kitchen where Eric had eggs and toast ready for Rick. Tobin was just finishing as he read the morning paper.

“Good night?” he asked with a smile. 

“Yeah, actually.”

Eric was heeled at Tobin’s feet. In his resting position- his knees spread wide, mouth open and hands at his sides.

“Do that,” Rick instructed Daryl as he pointed to Eric. Daryl complied.

“Should come up with your own preference, son.”

“I know. Just haven't done it yet,” Rick said with his mouth full.

“What are you planning to do today?” Rick knew why his father was asking. He wanted to make sure his plans involved training.

Rick shrugged. “SlavePro I guess for a collar and tags. Then read the manual and stuff.”

According to Tobin’s smile, it was the right answer. He reached into his pocket and slid a hundred dollar bill over to Rick. “Pick up a little something extra.” 

Rick shoveled the rest of his eggs in and mopped up his plate with the toast as he stood. “Great! Daryl, let's go.”

“Hold up, son. I'm glad to see you enthused but you got to feed them first. Don't forget your chores.” Tobin scrutinized Daryl a moment then looked up at Rick. “Did you let him out again before bed?”

“Oh shit! No,” Rick said walking with quick steps to the sliding door. “Daryl, go pee.”

Daryl walked nearly as fast as his owner and as soon as his feet hit grass he dropped to his hands and knees and started peeing before he even had his leg cocked. “Shit,” Rick murmured. 

“Not the end of the world, son. Some slaves may have wet themselves. Good sign of strength that he could hold it,” Tobin said as he walked out of the kitchen.

Rick let Daryl back in and filled two water bowls. The slaves drank side by side as Rick grabbed the dry food and filled two bowls. Once they were both eating, Rick leaned against the counter and read the back of the dog food box. _Your slave only deserves bear minimum. And Slave Scraps brand slave food delivers. All the nutrients a slave needs to be able to serve without the pleasure of good taste. Powerful owners always choose bear minimum._

Rick opened the top again and sniffed at it. It didn't smell like much of anything. He watched the slaves eat hurriedly and he wondered if this was the brand Daryl was used to. Rick sniffed again and pulled out one of the hard, round pieces of food. He smelled it again and then stuck out his tongue and licked at it.

“Aw fuck! This is disgusting!” Rick tossed the piece of food into Daryl's bowl. “Daryl, get me orange juice,” Rick whined as he spit into the sink. His slave was back with orange juice quickly and Rick drank it all in one guzzle.

He let them both out for a bathroom break and then ordered Daryl into the car for their shopping trip.

Rick had actually never been in a SlavePro. He knew the gist of what was there, of course, but even he was surprised out how many slave devices and supplies were out there. They walked up and down the aisles, Rick scanning the shelves and Daryl with eyes on the floor. Anal plugs, nipple clamps, handcuffs, cock rings, sounding kits, ball gags, diapers, whips, chains, baltine hammers, spreader bars, crates. Rick looked around at the other customers. One man walked by with his slave in a cock leash, leading him by his dick, and not too delicately. Another slave wore a pattern of bruises like his body was a canvas, matching bright blue/purples from nipples to hips and again from the tops of his thighs to his knees. 

“Mornin’, sir. Can I help you?” a voice asked from behind him. Rick turned to face a man with dreads and a confident smile. “I’m gonna guess new slave. Am I right?”

“Yeah,” Rick said pointing at Daryl. “I just need a collar and tag.” 

Heath, according to his nametag, waved Rick to follow and stepped into an aisle with another master and slave, the master having just given the toilet command. Rick watched as the slave scampered to the floor and opened his mouth. The master relieved himself down his slave’s throat. Rick had seen such a thing several times before, but he had to admit that this slave was a pro! He swallowed quickly and flawlessly without letting a single drop spill out. 

“Nice job with your slave, sir. He’s got it all!” Heath said as he pat the master on the back walking by. 

The master nodded, smiling with pride.

“Right down here sir,” Heath said and then waved his hand over a rack of collars, from thick leather ones with spikes, to frilly pink ones with flowers. “And you can get a tag personalized up at the checkout. Let me know if you need to find anything else. For a new slave, you might want to check out our machine aisle. Got all kinds of equipment to set sleeping habits, to crate him if you don’t want him loose while you’re away. Got a new machine that straps him in and thrusts dildos into his mouth and ass. You can set it to run anywhere from 2 hours to 8. Comes with a timer. Can get your slave’s holes ready before you even walk in the door.”

Rick nodded as he looked over the wide variety of collars. “Ok, maybe I’ll look. Thanks.”

Rick picked up a few collars, ran fingers over them and put them back. He finally found one he liked, it was mottled hues of blue. “Look at me,” Rick said and Daryl obeyed. Rick put the collar on him and tilted his head to look at it. “Matches your eyes. I like blue. That will do I think.”

He waited a few moments forcing Daryl to keep the eye contact. “Come on, let’s go. We have another place to stop!” Rick said excitedly. He paid $28 for the collar and a personalized tag that said _property of Rick Grimes_ along with his phone number. And they walked to the giant bookstore next door. It was fairly cold out. Rick remembered Mr. Walsh talking about the training slaves received to be able to handle varying degrees of temperature. It was Georgia, so it wasn’t ever _that_ cold. But it was nothing to see a master walking his slave through the snow, naked. Rick couldn’t imagine. He hated the cold. It was a balmy 80 degrees and Rick still thought it was chilly. He turned into the bookstore with Daryl right behind him. “Got a hundred bucks, remember?” Rick said conspiratorily. 

Rick went to look over the new releases. A man had his slave on hands and knees and was sitting on him like a bench as he flipped through a book. Rick looked to Daryl. “Just, like, kneel. Ok?” Daryl knelt. Rick spent an hour flipping through books and had three in his hands ready to check out. All were about finding treasures or hunting bad guys. As they walked to the register they passed the children's section. “Do you want another book?” Rick whispered, so no other master’s would hear it. Daryl’s face twitched again in that way he had of telling Rick he was unsure of how to answer. Rick sighed. He looked along the top row and grabbed one about the tortoise and the hare and added it to his pile.

When they were back home, Rick went straight to his room and managed to avoid his dad. He was fairly certain that he’d get a talking to for buying books rather than training tools. Rick climbed on his bed, excitedly re-reading the backs of his books, but he put them away along with Daryl’s and grabbed the slave manual again. He’d have to at least have a few things to talk about with his father over dinner so he flipped through the pages and started reading at a random spot.

_Humiliation is important so a slave never forgets his place. Slaves don’t emote much and they emote less and less over time. But they are programmed to understand humiliation. Although your slave has been through a top notch program since birth, it is important to reinforce. Piss exercises are one of the easiest ways to shame your property. Cock torture is another excellent option. By inflicting pain on the cock, you not only humiliate, but you reinforce pain control which is an important trait in a man’s slave. Forcing a slave in public to kneel, with their face on the floor and their ass up and pulled back with their own hands is a great way to showcase the anal entrance and shows all that a slave really is. The important thing to remember is that you should inflict humiliation whichever way you most enjoy. Your slave, as you know, is there for your enjoyment._

Rick looked over to Daryl still standing by the door awaiting commands. “Put your dick on my desk,” Rick commanded. Daryl walked to the desk and used the sway of his hips to get his dick in place since he wasn’t able to touch himself. Rick walked over and stood beside him. He picked up his 300-page Architecture 201 book and rose it over his head. “Look at me” Rick commanded. And Daryl obeyed.

This time, his eyes were strong and determined. Gritty, preparing for the blow he saw coming. Behind the show of strength was terror that Daryl was attempting to keep well masked with fluttering blinks. Rick slowly put the book down. “You were totally ready to take that, weren’t you?”

Daryl nodded obediently, his eyes still on Rick’s because he hadn’t been instructed otherwise. “Did they do that to you in your slave school?”

Daryl nodded again. 

“How many times?” Daryl didn’t respond.

“Like more than ten?” Daryl nodded. “Twenty?” Daryl nodded. “Is it more than you can count?” Daryl nodded. 

“Well, I’m not going to do that,” Rick said without further explanation. He went back to his bookshelf and grabbed Good Night Moon and the new Tortoise and the Hare book. “Which one do you want to look at while I’m reading?”

Daryl didn’t respond. 

“Daryl. I want you to pick one. I don’t care how. If you really don’t have an opinion, then pick what you think I want you to have. Or flip a damn coin in your head. Come on. New one or old one? One or two?” Rick said as he held up one finger then two fingers. 

Daryl slowly held up two fingers. “The old one?”

Daryl nodded tentatively. “See? Was that so hard? Sit on the bed and do like last night. Turn the page every two minutes.” They spent the rest of the afternoon reading together.

***********************  
“High table or low table?” Tobin asked as they walked into Francisco’s. 

“High table,” Rick answered. 

“Really? You sure?” 

As they stood at the hostess station Rick looked over to the low tables. They were positioned closer to the ground. Slaves were buckled into place over the table to serve as the plate. The table he was watching had two master’s with their slaves stretched and buckled so that hard cocks were face up, wide bottomed mugs of beer sat on each slave's chest, moving slightly with the patterns of steady, careful breaths. A waiter arrived with their meals. 

“Rotini and meatballs?” the waiter asked. One of the master’s raised a hand and the waiter dumped the steaming hot pasta from the serving plate onto the slave’s stomach.

“Yeah. High tables,” Rick mumbled. They were seated and Rick observed the different slave positions. Most were under the table sucking off their owners, or at the very least sitting with their faces directly against their master’s crotch. A reminder of where they belonged and all they were good for. 

After they were seated, Rick instructed Daryl to kneel with his face tucked into Rick’s crotch. It was actually quite nice. Comforting like a warm blanket. Rick liked that. Tobin had Eric in a terribly awkward position, balancing himself on his head and elbows, his ass sticking up as level and straight as he could get it. When the waiter brought them long, narrow glasses of brandy, Tobin shoved his into Eric’s ass. “Keep it steady, Eric. This shit isn’t cheap.”

“Not very inventive for your first night,” Tobin said as he raised a brown.

“I’m supposed to do what I like. I like the feel of him against my cock.”

“Now don’t be too greedy, son. There’s some work at the onset. You need to train him, reinforce the obedience, work-”

“Dad, I know. I’m reading the manual. I’m passing my Ownership 101 class.”

Tobin backed off. “You’re right. This is your birthday dinner. I’m not going to nag you through the whole thing. And he kept his word for quiet a while. Talking about his work as construction foreman. Letting Rick tell him about the novel he’s reading. They talked about the division of chores between Eric and Daryl. Daryl would take over laundry and mowing the lawn. Eric would continue with everything else. That way Daryl would still have plenty of time for training. And with the extra time Eric got from relinquishing those chores, Tobin decided that he would add a daily cleaning of the kitchen floor with Eric’s tongue.

Rick got steak, a baked potato and green beans. It was quite good and as he ate, he enjoyed the feel of Daryl’s face against his cock. In hindsight, Rick should have known not to be so bold. But he got overly confident in himself and his way of doing things. After a bad bite of the steak, Rick spit out a little gristle into his napkin. As Tobin was complimenting a punishment being administered at the table next to them, Rick thought about the taste of the slave food and how much he really did hate to waste things. He took the chewed up gristle and slyly reached under the table to finding Daryl’s mouth with his fingers and sliding the piece of meat into his mouth. He pet at Daryl’s hair as the slave chewed and swallowed. Rick wished he could have seen Daryl’s face. Would his first ever taste of human food have been something to make him break that passive expression. 

He had to know. Tobin was still occupied with the table across the aisle as a master forced his slave to lay on the floor sideways as he slammed his foot against his cock repeatedly.

Rick cut another piece of the steak and slipped it under the table, this time backing up a bit so he could see Daryl’s face. He looked confused more than anything else. “Open,” Rick whispered and Daryl did. He placed the meat on Daryl’s tongue. “Chew.” Daryl did, but his eyes stayed on the floor. Just as Rick was ready to command “look at me” he heard Tobin’s voice booming above the buzz of the restaurant. 

“Rick! What the fuck are you doing?” He dropped his voice now. “Are you feeding him under the table?!”

“I just … I just wanted-”

Before Rick could form words, Tobin had reached under the table and pulled Daryl out by his hair. He yanked him to his feet. “You want human food from a plate?” Tobin whispered through clenched teeth, not wanting anyone to know exactly what caused the outburst. Probably embarrassed of Rick. “Here’s a plate,” Tobin said as he spun Daryl and slammed his head into Tobin’s, still steaming pasta alfredo. Tobin dipped a few fingers in the olive oil that was served with the bread and lubed his cock. He shoved it into Daryl’s ass without a bit of prep.

“Dad! You’re gonna break him. He’s mine. Mine to break.” 

“You need to learn, Rick. You need to be doing this right. This is your future at risk.” Tobin fucked Daryl relentlessly. Hard, fast, unrelenting, Daryl’s face still smothered in pasta. Rick heard Daryl whimper quietly. The first time the man’s voice escaped him. And Rick was PISSED that it wasn’t him getting that first sound. He folded his arms and pouted as Tobin came with a loud grunt. He then had Eric lick his cock clean under the table and ordered Daryl to stay right where he was, his face in Tobin’s plate and his ass in there air for everyone to see. 

The remained like that for another half hour while Tobin ate around Daryl’s face and explained that these were the formative years for a slave and Rick had to learn to command with an iron fist. It was the same old lecture about his future and reputations and careers. And Rick just wanted to get home and have Daryl back from his father. A boy’s slave is his own, yes. But a boy obeys his father, so there lies the conundrum. 

Finally, they were back at home. Rick and Daryl were both washed and back in Rick’s room, Rick reading and Daryl looking at the pictures in Goodnight Moon again. Rick couldn’t concentrate on his book. He had the sound of Daryl’s whimper trapped in his ears. That whimper belonged to Rick, goddammit. Finally Rick tossed his book on his night stand. “Look at me,” he commanded and Daryl did. He looked downright depressed. “I know you’re upset, Daryl. I can read you,” Rick whispered. “What was worse? The pain or the humiliation?”

Daryl struggled to answer. 

“One or two, Daryl. Pain or humiliation? I want to know.” 

After flexing his fingers and hesitating for long minutes, Daryl finally held three fingers up and Rick nodded in understanding. “Would it have been better if it was me doing that to you?”

Daryl nodded quickly. 

“Because I’m your owner?”

Daryl nodded.

Rick reached over the covers between them and rested his hand on the red on Daryl’s cheek, still there from the hot pasta. He rubbed it for a second and then poked at it just to see if Daryl would flinch at all. He didn’t. Rick looked down at his old children’s book in Daryl’s lap. “Do you want me to read it to you?”

Daryl didn’t respond. “If you don’t have an opinion, make one up. Or answer how you think I want you to. Just answer. Do you want me to read you that story?” Rick had forgotten to let him pee that morning. Had pretended to slam a textbook on his cock. Tobin took him violently and unprepared at dinner and none of those things made Daryl change his expression. But the offer of a story made the slaves eyes fill with wetness that clung to his eye lashes. He nodded his head yes. 

Rick slipped the book out of Daryl’s hands and leaned against the headboard. “Come on over here so you can see the pictures.” Daryl moved, allowing Rick to guide him until the slave was laying by Rick’s side, his head on Rick’s chest. Rick stroked Daryl’s hair for a moment before he opened the book. He had some things he wanted to say but they were all inappropriate. Things about wanting to understand Daryl better. To learn to communicate. “I’m going to have to do things to you sometimes you won’t like, Daryl. You know that, right?” Daryl nodded against Rick’s chest. 

“Do you get scared sometimes? Were you scared of my dad? If your’e mine, Daryl, then you’re all mine. Your thoughts are mine.” Rick lowered his voice. “I know you think. Answer me. Were you scared?”

Daryl nodded very slowly. Rick continued to stroke his hair, thinking back to his dream. To Daryl waking him. To Daryl sleeping on the floor, curled into a protective ball. “I watched you sleep. I saw you sucking your thumb. Is that comforting to you? When you’re scared?”

Daryl waited a moment and nodded slowly. “Go ahead then. Suck your thumb,” Rick said softly. Daryl moved quicker than Rick had yet seen him, his thumb slipping between his lips like magnet on metal and he made soft sucking noises with it. Rick stroked his hair and opened the book. 

“In the great green room there was a telephone and a red balloon and a picture….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've quite enjoyed hearing your thoughts! Thanks so much to all of you who have commented. I hope you are continuing to enjoy!


	5. Chapter 5

“What is a slave’s dick for?” Mr. Walsh asked the class as he paced back and forth at the front of the lecture hall. “I mean, our dicks are for our pleasure. A direct connection to bliss, so what good is a slave’s dick? Other than the cock torture for show of power and control, why? Why not just remove them at birth? Get them out of the way?”

The class was quiet. “Seriously. I know some of you have slaves. What have you used your slave’s cock for?”

Gareth raised his hand. 

“Yes. Gareth, talk to us.” Shane said.

“Well, I've been using mine as a lapdesk for homework and I keep a pen in the hole. So like, I guess it's a place to put things if you want?”

Shane half nodded and half shook his head. “Well, yeah. You can put things in it like that. But that's more in line with the whole aspect of inflicting pain. You can hang a 3 kilogram weight off it. You can step on it, pierce it, lead it with a cock leash, _stretch_ it with a cock leash. But that's not what I'm talking about here. Your slave produces semen similar to humans. The release of that semen feels pleasurable. So what use is that for your slave?”

The lecture hall was silent and Mr. Walsh sighed. “Some of you have probably noticed your slave leaking in their sleep. They have to expend their semen. It's just biological, like pissing. If you aren't making arrangements to milk them in some way, then they are going to leak at night without you in control of it. You want to be the one who controls when that happens, right?”

No one responded and Mr. Walsh continued. “The answer is to turn it into pain as much as you can. And to be in control of it. How do you do that? You allow the release of semen on your terms. And you use language when allowing this to happen that reinforces shame and humiliation. Will your slave get pleasure from the release? Yes. Is that a bad thing? No. There is an element of pleasure involved in everything you do. If you clamp your slave’s nipples, then there is pleasure when the clamps are removed. If you had your slave holding their urine for twelve hours, then there's pleasure when they can finally release their bladder. Pleasure is a part of the whole equation, you just need to own it and put it in the proper context to put the pain and control into the situation.”

Mr. Walsh shut off the lights and started a filmstrip. “Here's a video that shows some good ways on how to be in control of milking your slave and how to keep them in their place while you're doing it.”

The film started with an outside scene. A slave was on the ground on his side. His cock was hard and the master stepped on it with a heavy boot and instructed the slave to thrust between the dirt and his shoe. The master looked at the camera. “One of the best ways to milk your slave is to have them do the work and have it as degrading as possible. Don’t forget the power of words. Watch me.”

He looked down to his slave. “Go one now. Fuck your cock between my foot and the dirt where your cock belongs and don’t even think about coming until I tell you. Need to milk you boy, get that dirty slave jizz out of you and where it belongs in the dirt. And you’re thankful for it aren’t you?” The slave nodded as the master looked back to the camera. “See how you remove so much of the enjoyment?” After a few more minutes of degrading the slave, he was ordered to come and he did with a pathetic spill of white into the dirt. “Lick it up,” the master instructed and the scene faded as the slave licked come and dirt from the ground.

The next scene took place in an aisle of a SlavePro. Rick rolled his eyes. It was clearly a commercial plug. A slave was sitting on a bench and a SlavePro employee was talking to the camera. “This is a brand new milking machine just recently available at your local SlavePro.” He held up a cylinder and showed it to the camera. “If you look close, you’ll see there’s a roughness to this, similar to a fine grain of sandpaper.” 

The SlavePro employee affixed the cylinder to the slave’s cock and hooked up attachments to the bench below. He pushed a button on the base of the bench and the slave whimpered surprisingly. “This machine is making sure that the act of coming will be as painful as it will be pleasurable. There will be a bit of a road rash affect to the slave’s dick and some bleeding, but what’s nice is that the height of the bench allows the owner to get a blow job while waiting for their slave to expel his semen.” 

The man in the commercial took out his cock and did just that. The camera then panned down to the slave’s cock as semen dripped out along with some blood. When the device was removed, the slave’s cock looked absolutely raw. The SlavePro employee looked thrilled. “Trust me, the pleasure that came from this milking, was buried in pain. This device is a must have and at only $259.99, it’s incredibly affordable.”

Mr. Walsh turned off the film and put the lights back on. “So, the long story, short, is that pain and pleasure need to meet for a proper milking of a slave. Anyone have any questions?” 

Rick raised his hand. “Mr. Grimes! I’m happy to see you participating. Go ahead”

“I thought slaves didn't have emotions. How can the act of coming be pleasurable at all then?”

Everyone in class turned and looked at Rick as the bell rang. “Test tomorrow, everyone,” Shane said loudly over the noise of students packing their rucksacks. “Mr. Grimes, come on up and see me before you leave.” 

Rick shut his eyes and shook his head. He should have kept his mouth shut. He trudged up to the front and stood at Mr. Walsh’s desk.

“Rick Grimes,” Mr. Walsh sighed. “Every couple of years I get a student like you,” he said with a sigh, sitting at the chair behind his desk.

Rick didn't ask what he meant by that. He kept his mouth shut, hoping it would be a quick lecture.

“You know slaves are raised to submit, to obey. They want to control their pain and pleasure for you.”

“But… I thought they weren't supposed to have preferences or opinions or wants. The fact that orgasm is pleasure and, like, cock torture is pain. Aren't they wishing in their heads to receive one over the other?”

“Rick, the only thing in their head is to please and obey you. They can't-”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry, Mr. Walsh. I'm thinking about it all too much I guess.”

“I think that's exactly it, son. You don't need to put too much thought on what's going on in your slave’s head. It's just...it's just not that important. Ok?”

“Yeah, got it,” Rick said as he turned to leave.

“Rick. You gonna be ready for the test? I understand from your other teachers that your grades in the architecture courses are stellar. But you struggle in here. You need a tutor?”

“Nah. Just really focused on my other classes. I'll study.”

Mr. Walsh sighed and rubbed at the back of his head. “Pleasure and pain aren't emotions. Love is an emotion. Hate is an emotion. Your slave is not capable of those. Pain and pleasure are biological. Are you understanding the difference here?”

“Yeah, I got it,” Rick said.

As Rick walked home his thoughts were filled with Daryl. He'd had him for a month now and Rick worried about how he was going to ever show up with Daryl at an interview. Eventually he was going to have to train him better. Maybe if he was used to the typical treatment from Rick, he wouldn't get so upset when his dad or his dad's friends fucked him. No one else noticed when Daryl was “upset” after those incidents. But Rick knew. He saw. He’s spent a month looking into those blue eyes and trying to understand what happens in his slave’s mind. 

Rick was miserable as he walked home. He was embarrassed at how all the other students looked at him when he asked his question. He knew he wasn’t ready for his test. His father already told him they were going back to Francesco's for dinner on Saturday and that he’d better see improvement with Daryl or he was going to send Rick to private classes. Basically it was just a long, bad day and all Rick wanted to do was get home, get through dinner, get his bath and get into bed with Daryl. 

Daryl was comfort for Rick. And that wasn't weird, right? That was how it was supposed to be. The owner took pleasure in the slave. But Rick didn't get that pleasure by smacking his dick or pissing on him or even fucking him, although Rick did fuck him each night before bed. Rick got pleasure just sitting with him, reading with him, petting him. It brought Rick comfort. And wasn't’ that what a slave was supposed to do?

*********************

That night Rick was happy to be in his bed with Daryl holding his textbook before him. He’d study for a bit even though it was a Friday. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so socially awkward if he just sat down and forced in all the facts he could. He sat with his legs spread, Daryl kneeling between them with the book resting on the tops of his legs. He’d been commanded to watch Rick’s eyes and each time he glanced up, Daryl knew to turn the page. He read like that for a while. Then took the book and tossed it on the floor. He stripped for bed and stretched out. “Get yourself ready,” Rick said. Daryl got the lube from the drawer and before he could squeeze any on to his fingers, Rick changed his mind. “Wait.” Daryl stopped and looked up for instruction.

“Give it to me,” Rick instructed and Daryl did. Rick squeezed the lube onto his own fingers and played with it. He’d never really touched the stuff before, always having the slaves get themselves ready. It was slick. Sticky and a little gooey. “Hands and knees on the bed. I’ll get you ready.” Rick wasn’t sure why he did it. Slaves should get themselves ready. But Rick had wondered what the inside of Daryl really felt like. He wanted to watch Daryl’s body as Rick had fingers inside him.

Rick was fascinated at how he could stretch Daryl open like this. He started with one finger like Daryl always did, then worked up to three. Once he was ready, Rick wiped his finger on the covers and told Daryl to get on the floor. 

Rick pressed Daryl's face to the carpet, trying to thrust as hard and unforgiving as he's seen his father do with Eric. He’d have to do way worse than this tomorrow. He continued the pace until he came with a small cry and he put a plug into Daryl so he wouldn't leak on the floor and then sat on the edge of the bed and commanded Daryl to lick Rick clean.

Rick watched and wondered if he should be more ruthless tonight to prepare him for tomorrow or if he should give him something nice because tomorrow would be awful enough. He thought about his lessons on milking his slave and realized he’d never done that for Daryl before. He’d seen semen a couple times on the floor where Daryl slept and had him lick it up, but Rick hadn’t yet ordered him to come. 

“Daryl, do you want to come tonight?”

Daryl struggled to respond and Rick had expected that. “I want you you to come tonight,” Rick said. He slid his leg between Daryl's thighs. “You can hump my leg til I tell you to come. Go on now,” Rick said.

Daryl hesitantly wrapped his legs and arms around Rick's leg and started rutting as Rick petted Daryl's hair. “I'm going to let it feel good tonight,” Rick whispered. “But you have to understand that I need you to be obedient tomorrow and tomorrow will be horrible. I have to make it horrible,” Rick explained. 

He watched Daryl and continued brushing fingers through his hair. “Want you to be comfortable for this time. Would it help to suck your thumb? Do you want to do that?”

Daryl nodded, his eyes squeezed shut. “Ok, then, go ahead.” 

Rick smiled warmly as he watched Daryl wrapped tight around him, sucking his thumb, his passive expression showing some cracks, showing a serenity that was quite beautiful. And Rick wondered again what was wrong with him that he found pleasure in something like that when everyone else drew pleasure from controlling a slave's pain. Was it that wrong? Rick was still controlling Daryl, controlling pleasure. And didn't Mr. Walsh say pleasure and pain were connected?

Rick continued petting Daryl's mop of hair and he watched his slave’s face closely. “Daryl, come.” Rick instructed. And a small gasp fell from Daryl's lips. It was clear he was fighting to keep his expression passive but Rick could see a slight furrow of Daryl's brow gave away his enjoyment. Rick felt the warmth of Daryl against his leg as the slave stilled his body and sucked vigorously on his thumb. Rick petted his his hair and traced his eyebrows. Then ran his finger around Daryl's lips, around his thumb. 

“Take your thumb out, beautiful.” Rick said, wincing at the unintentional endearment. It was not normal to give pet names to your slave. God, how was he going to appear normal at dinner tomorrow?

“Lick up your mess,” Rick commanded. He watched as Daryl licked like a kitten against his sticky calf. 

Rick felt guilt over what hadn't even happened yet. Guilt over what would happen at Francisco's. He opened his nightstand and took out a cookie he smuggled back to his room after dinner. He'd been afraid to feed Daryl under the table again, but he had the idea tonight to sneak something back.

When Daryl was done he sat back on his knees with his eyes down. “Look at me,” Rick said with a forced smile. He was depressed from his day. From worry over dinner tomorrow. Depressed about what was wrong with his head that he drew pleasure from dispensing pleasure instead of pain. Was there even a word for what was wrong with him?

He held up the cookie. “It's a cookie. I snuck it back for you. A treat for being such a good boy. I bet you’ll like it,” Rick said as he broke it in half and reached out to Daryl's mouth. “Take it. Eat.”

Rick tilted his head and watched as Daryl chewed. His eyes lit up and Rick thought there may have been a twitch of his lips, as if the slave was suppressing a smile.

“I want you to answer my question. Did it taste good? If you want the other half, I want you to answer. Was it good?”

Daryl struggled a moment, then nodded. Rick smiled. “I knew you'd like it,” he whispered as he fed the other half to him.

“Remember this tomorrow, ok? That things won't always be awful.” Rick fluffed the pillows behind him and reached for the tortoise and the hare book. He usually let Daryl pick. It was always one of the two. Goodnight Moon was clearly his favorite. Rick could tell. But Daryl picked the Tortise and the Hare a lot too, probably because Rick had gone out of his way to buy it for him. Rick had a couple other old books and he'd offer those too sometimes, but Daryl, for whatever reason, never picked them. 

“Come on up. We’ll do this one tonight.”

It's been every night for a month so Daryl knew exactly how to lay and what to do. He laid his long, bare body alongside Rick’s and put his head on his owner’s chest. He sucked his thumb without even being told, which most master's would find presumptuous. But Rick thought it was good, like his slave knew what Rick would want and Rick liked that. Rick started reading and paused a few pages in.

“I'm fucked up. I'm not being a proper master and that could end up hurting you in the end. If I don't train you right...if I…” Rick sighed.

“I have to make sure you are strong enough to take what my father might dish out. You’re mine, but you know how it is. It's proper to offer your slave out, y’know?”

Rick sighed again and just sat with the book open, caressing Daryl’s bicep and worrying about how he was going to be able to keep his own expression void of emotion tomorrow night. Because Rick was going to be miserable. He was so used to Daryl not moving a muscle without been told that he quite literally jumped when Daryl moved his hand from his mouth to the page. He pointed at a word in the middle of one of the sentences. “You,” Rick read, confused. 

Then Daryl slid his finger across the page to another word. “Are. Daryl? Have you been learning what each word is?”

Daryl flipped the page back and found another word and pointed. “Good.” Rick read. He was silent for a moment, his eyes stinging, making it even clearer that he was going to be a wreck tomorrow. He kissed Daryl’s forehead, something he’d never done before. It felt nice, the warmth of him against Rick’s lips. Daryl looked up without being instructed and that just made it worse. Rick was already fucking up. Allowing shit like that. Making Daryl think it was ok. “I didn’t tell you to look at me, Daryl,” Rick growled. 

Daryl looked down and put his thumb back in his mouth, rested his head back carefully on Rick’s chest. “I’m sorry I snapped. I just…I’m having a bad day.” Rick shook his head at himself. Apologizing to a slave? Jesus Christ. Daryl pulled his hand away from his mouth again and lifted his thumb to Rick’s lips like an offering. Rick laughed and wiped at the dampness that formed in his eyes. “Are you trying to console me?” Daryl nodded, keeping his eyes down on the pages of their book. Rick opened his mouth and took the thumb and sucked on it. “Thank you,” he whispered around it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've quite enjoyed receiving comments. I'd love to continue hearing your thoughts. 
> 
> Cheers!


	6. Chapter 6

Rick’s father had made reservations for a low table at Francisco’s for 6:00 pm and Rick kept his face ambivalent when he was told this at breakfast. As Rick poured syrup on his pancakes, Tobin talked about the very obvious lack of training marks on Daryl’s body. Rick fumbled through some bullshit about working on psychological pain first. And Tobin lifted a brow at Daryl who was just kneeling by Rick in a basic pose. 

Eric was laying flat and face-up under Tobin’s chair, one of Tobin’s feet resting on Eric’s face and the other on Eric’s dick. Rick watched his father curl his toes and pull at Eric’s pubic hair, occasionally lifting completely off and slamming his foot down on Eric’s erect cock. Tobin wasn’t even paying attention to what he was doing. He was just doing it to do it. 

With a mouthful of pancakes, Rick instructed Daryl to lick his feet clean and Tobin looked slightly pleased with the direction. At one point, Rick ordered Daryl to massage his feet and suck his toes until Rick told him to stop. Tobin seemed to think it was degrading enough, but secretly Rick hoped it was giving Daryl some of the same comfort that he got from sucking his thumb. 

After breakfast Rick tied Daryl up to the rack in the playroom and explained that he needed to be marked or he’d look out of place. Rick whipped his back and paddled his ass till there were a sufficient amount of blooming bruises and bloody streaks. Daryl took them without a single flinch and Rick was very proud of him. He pulled a piece of bacon from breakfast out of his shirt pocket and turned Daryl’s head towards him by gripping at his hair. He’d need to get used to that, Rick knew. “Here. Eat,” Rick ordered and Daryl did, his eyelids closing as he enjoyed the taste on his tongue. “Good boy,” Rick said. “You did good for this. I’m going to clip your nipples for tonight and put on a cock cage with spikes that I’ll squeeze at from time to time. But it’s to protect you. If I’m already the one with your nipples and cock covered, my dad won’t be able to do anything to them, ok?”

Daryl nodded. Rick like that Daryl knew how to nod or shake his head now. He even answered feeling questions now, though Rick would have to be so careful at dinner not to ask any of those. That kind of conversation was their secret. Rick unhooked Daryl and instructed him to turn over. He affixed nipple clamps to both nipples and tugged at them. “I won’t put a chain between them. That would just be inviting my father to toy with you.” He grabbed the box of cock cages and pulled one out that had spikes on the inside. “My dad would really think I’m doing better if I used this one. It will hurt you and I’m sorry,” Rick said as he put it on. He squeezed it so the spikes dug in and Daryl stayed strong and expressionless. 

“You are so strong, Daryl,” Rick whispered. He kissed his forehead and grabbed his hand to help him up. 

Rick dug in another drawer and came back with an anal plug. “I’m not sure what’s best. If I don’t plug you, then you’ll be wide open for my dad to easily fuck, or for him to offer you to others while we’re eating. If I do plug you, it might make him hesitate doing anything because you are already filled, but it might make him figure that you are already stretched and he’d still do it anyway. What do you want? You want the plug or no? One or two.”

Daryl slowly raised two fingers and Rick nodded as he put the plug back in the drawer.

“Spin around for me.” Daryl did showing all sides of himself. His back was a full canvas of colors, his cock was confined and the heavy clamps pulled on his nipples. Though, If he’d be eating off Daryl, all the work Rick just put in on marking him would be lost during the most important moment of the night, so he grabbed a smaller flogger, moved Daryl’s legs so they were spread wide and he flogged at both thighs and a couple times against his chest until new marks started forming. 

“Forgive me,” Rick commanded and Daryl nodded. He offered his thumb again, looking more like he was giving Rick an awkward thumbs up, but Rick knew it for the offer of comfort that it was. He sucked at it quickly and kissed the tip. “It will be over soon.” Rick looked at his watch. “We have to go now,” he said. And when he reached for the door he turned back. “Don’t look at me tonight. That’s an order ok?” Daryl kept his eyes on the ground and nodded.

****************

Eric and Daryl were strapped onto the table by the waitstaff, and Tobin and Rick slid into their seats afterwards. Eric had mark patterns along the sides of his torso and his cock was hanging free. As they looked at their menus Tobin asked, “How’s he been performing? He wince or anything at the clamps?”

“No, he’s great, dad. Really good listener and super strong,” Rick squeezed at the cock cage like show and tell and Tobin nodded pleased when Daryl didn’t so much as flinch. When the waiter came back to take their orders, Rick tried to get an Italian sub. 

“Son, this is a five-star restaurant. You aren’t getting a damn sandwich. I know lasagna’s your favorite. He’ll have the lasagna,” Tobin told the waiter.

“Whatever,” Rick shrugged and handed his menu to the waiter. Tobin ordered spaghetti and meatballs and an olive and cheese plate for appetizers. 

“So tell me what you’re learning in school. I’ve barely seen you since you got your new toy here.”

Rick shrugged. “Like what do you want to know?”

“Well, what classes are you taking?” Tobin asked as he poked absently at Eric's nipples with a fork.

“Three of them are for architecture. Then Ownership 101 and History of Women.”

Tobin’s eyes lit up. “Ah! History of Women,” he said. Rick rolled his eyes. Of course he wouldn't want to talk about the architecture classes.

“You know, my mother, your grandmother was a free woman. One of the last probably. She was brought in shortly after I was born,” Tobin began as the appetizers were set down, cheese, bread and olives placed on each slave’s belly and a bucket of condiments hung onto each cock. 

Rick tried not to wince as he cursed himself for being overly aggressive with the cock cage. The weight of the condiments was definitely going have it stabbing at Daryl until the meal came. Rick quickly snatched up the olive oil and squirted some onto his bread, leaving the heavy bottle sit on Daryl’s chest. He didn't even like eating bread that way, but the olive oil was clearly the heaviest thing in the bucket.

“I always found it fascinating that before the shortage, women just walked around like you and me!” Tobin reached for the hot mustard as he spoke, pausing to murmur “tongue” to Eric. He plopped a spoonful on Eric’s outstretched tongue and dipped tiny blocks of Swiss into it as he continued.

“What's the latest theories on the virus?” He asked.

“I don't know, dad. It's called _History_ of Women, not New Theories on the Virus.”

“Don't sass,” Tobin said, giving Rick a warning with his hard glance.

“We haven't talked much about it. Just that there was an apocalypse scare for a while thinking humans wouldn't be able to reproduce cause so many women were dying. And then all the hoopla when they found out the birth rate for female babies was like 3% or something.”

Rick ran a thumb gently over Daryl's hipbone as he held a piece of soggy bread. He looked down at Eric and saw tears spilling from the corners of his eyes as the spicy mustard sizzled against his tongue. 

“Mustard is hot!” Tobin said, removing some excess off a piece of cheese by wiping it onto Eric's lip. Rick looked down at Daryl and quickly grabbed the salt from the condiment bucket, shook some on his olives and instructed Daryl to open. He used Daryl's mouth to hold the salt shaker, trying to keep it in use in a proactive effort of keeping Tobin from bullying Rick into trying the mustard that way.

Luckily he wasn't paying much attention, more interested in hearing himself talk. “Will you have a field trip to a breeding house at the end of the semester?”

“Supposed to, yeah.”

“You'll have to make reservations for breeding sometime soon. The waiting list can be years.”

The waiter came by, refilled waters and removed the uneaten appetizers, readying the slaves for the main course.

“I didn't plan on doing it,” Rick said. It wasn't law. It wasn't like anyone would know whether or not he tried to breed. Plenty of people did it without pregnancy happening. Rick just figured it would be one thing he didn’t HAVE to do. People would just assume he tried and didn’t produce an offspring.

Tobin just looked at him and shook his head. “Not sure where I went wrong,” he muttered. 

“What?” Rick asked, with more attitude than he probably should have. “It's not required. I'm doing good with Daryl. I'm getting good grades.”

“Yeah, son. You’re doing bare minimum. That's fantastic.”

They were thankfully interrupted by the waiter who scooped Tobin's spaghetti onto Eric and served a still steaming piece of lasagna on Daryl’s belly. Rick quickly started cutting it up with the side of his fork so it could start cooling and he took a giant mouthful, burning the shit out of the roof of his mouth.

“I’m going to be an architect, dad,” Rick said in a small voice that he hated as soon as he heard it. “That’s...that’s not nothing.” Rick used his fork like a level and lifted the hottest parts of the lasagna off Daryl, trying to disguise it as just ‘playing with his food’.

“It’s a ruthless business, Rick. I’m not sure you’re strong enough for it. You’re a dreamer.”

Rick sulked and tried to eat as fast as possible without it looking too obvious. “I’ll try harder, dad.” He didn’t say it for any other reason than the end the conversation.

“You’ll probably be no more than a construction foreman like me. Nothing wrong with that, of course. But I always wanted better for you. Course if you’d get your head out of your ass and go in for your breeding you might hit the jackpot and knock her up with a female offspring. The breeding house is buying them back now at $500,000 a pop.”

“Or it’s a boy and I’m stuck with it. Or it’s nothing and nobody knows if I did it or not anyway. It’s not a public thing like this,” Rick said as he motioned to the slaves. “So I won’t be shaming you. No one would know.”

When Tobin didn’t answer, Rick searched his brain for a safe change of topic. “How’s the new office building you’re working on? I walked by it the other day. It’s really impressive.” And that’s all it took to turn the conversation around. Tobin talked about work and his incompetent employees and Rick ate til he felt sick and rubbed at Daryl’s hipbone with his thumb when he could sense Tobin wouldn’t notice.

When dinner was finally over, the slaves were unstrapped and were ordered to crawl out by Tobin. As they all left Tobin watched Daryl closely. “All those bruises are fresh. You haven’t been keeping it up. Nose stuck in fiction every evening.” 

Rick didn’t answer. 

“You milked him at all yet?” 

“Yeah, I did. Learned about it class and stuff. I did.” Rick was a little too enthusiastic. 

“How?” Tobin asked.

Rick hesitated on the answer, long enough that Tobin knew whatever it was, was going to be a lie. 

“I don’t even want to know,” Tobin said as he raised his hand.

“Being soft on him, Rick… It’s just going to make his life harder. And yours.” Tobin lifted his boot and pressed it down on Daryl’s back as he crawled, stopping him instantly and landing him flat against the rough parking lot. He moved his heavy boot to Daryl’s ass and pushed it back and forth forcing him to rut against the hard, hot gravel. 

“Dad. I want to do it. You can’t keep taking him all the time. He’s supposed to be mine.” 

“Then do it, Rick!” Tobin shouted, taking his foot off Daryl and stepping back.

Rick put his foot where Tobin’s had been and moved Daryl. Just two or three times so he could show he was doing it. “Come,” Rick commanded and he felt Daryl’s body shiver under his foot. “There. You happy now, dad?” Rick shouted. “Fucking lick it up, Daryl. And fast. I want to go home.”

As Rick watched Daryl lapping at the asphalt, Tobin had unzipped his pants and pissed on Daryl’s hair. 

“Goddammit, Dad! He’s mine and I don’t want MY slave smelling like your piss. Stop inserting yourself in this.”

“You don’t want my help? Then fine. You’re getting a tutor for Ownership 101. Getting C’s on all your tests isn’t ‘doing good’. You want to be an architect? Then this is me helping you be an architect.” Tobin zipped up and shouted for the slaves to get in the bed of his truck. They drove home in silence. 

********************

Rick washed Daryl first. Normally he had Daryl wash himself as Rick sat on the floor and read, but Rick could tell he was hurting and he was sad. No one else would know this. It was only for Rick to see in Daryl’s eyes. He washed Daryl’s hair being as gentle as he could. He was careful of the burns and bruises as he ran the washcloth over every inch of him. When Daryl got out Rick applied burn ointment to his stomach and neosporin to the scrapes along his cock from the unforgiving parking lot. “You don’t have to wash me tonight, Just sit and let this stuff dry.” 

Rick washed himself for the first time in his life and it was lonely. He kind of hated not having Daryl’s hands on him, but not enough to force him to bend over. The burn on his stomach looked incredibly painful, though you wouldn’t know it to look at Daryl because his face remained strong and passive. 

“You were really good tonight, Daryl. A good boy,” Rick said as he toweled off. The hint of a smirk ghosted across Daryl’s lips. No one would notice the movement but Rick because no one would ever look at him like Rick looks at him. 

Once they were back in Rick’s bedroom, Rick stood wordless by Daryl. Both had their eyes on the floor. “I’m sorry I’m not better at standing up to him. Sorry I haven’t been doing better by you so that he doesn’t feel like he has to step in.” Daryl didn’t move. “You can suck your thumb now,” Rick whispered and Daryl had it in his mouth a millisecond later. Rick sat on the bed and watched Daryl for a while, his head tilted.

“You want a book or do you just want to go to sleep? One or two?” Rick asked.

Daryl held up one finger from the hand he was sucking on. 

“Goodnight moon or Tortoise and the Hare?” 

Daryl held up two fingers and Rick called him over. “You can sleep in the bed tonight, ok? So it’s ok if you fall asleep while I read.”

Daryl tucked into position, his head under Rick’s chin, soft sucking sounds from his mouth. He opened the book for Rick. After Rick read it through, fingers sifting through Daryl’s cleaned hair, he waited on the final page before he closed the book. “I wish I could protect you from this world,” he whispered. 

Daryl took his thumb out of his mouth with a pop. Rick has thought he was asleep and he jumped at the fast-for-Daryl movements. He watched patiently as his slave turned the pages back and pointed at words as Rick read them.

“You. Nice. Good. Me.”

Rick rolled Daryl back so he was laying flat on the bed, his head on Rick’s pillow He traced at the sides of his face with his index finger. “Look at me.” And Daryl did. “Do you want to go to the bookstore with me tomorrow? There’s better books for learning to read.” Daryl bit at his bottom lip and nodded yes without any further prompting. Rick looked into him. Into his soul. He HAD a soul. He was not nothing. He was smart. Smarter than any other slave he’d ever seen. He was brave and strong and he was beautiful. And he thought. He wanted. He felt. And no one could see that but Rick. He leaned in and brushed Daryl’s lips with his own and pulled back slow. Daryl’s eyebrows knit in confusion. “That’s a kiss. It’s a thing people used to do when they cared about each other. I read about it in a history class.”

They just held gazes for a while searching for comfort in one another while Rick rubbed gently at Daryl’s hipbone, one of the few spots on him that wasn’t burned or bruised. “You don’t have to wake me at any time. I’ll get us up when I’m ready, ok?” Daryl nodded. “You can roll over on your side. I know you like that.” 

Daryl did and Rick spooned up against him. He slid his arm around what was his and tugged Daryl’s hand away from his mouth, sliding his own thumb between Daryl’s lips instead and falling asleep to the feel of Daryl suckling onto it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this isn't complete rubbish. I rushed this a bit. I would love to keep getting your feedback. Thanks to all of you who asked about the role of women in this AU. I hope my explanation of that worked here. Knowing what you guys like or what you question helps me to write the next chapters!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Senoia who sent me this pic in comments. As she points out, it almost looks like he's sucking his thumb (although it's really a cigarette). I thought this was a perfect image of what slave!daryl looks like!
> 
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/03/9a/70/039a704d20c0babff22d4d853ad67fb6.jpg
> 
> Update: This chapter starts out six months after the last. Also- I do not have a "beta", so please forgive all errors. (or let me know if you see anything glaring that may need to be fixed!)

_Six months later_

Rick looked over the edge of the bed and smiled at the sight of Daryl laying on his belly and writing his letters. His fist was wrapped around a pencil like a child. How a slave could learn to withstand cock torture, but couldn't learn how to hold a pencil properly was beyond Rick. But he wouldn't complain. Not when he has the smartest slave in the world. The funniest. The cutest. The sweetest. 

Rick liked looking at the shape of him, the lines of his body, the way he twisted a finger into his hair when he was thinking. The way he had the slightest happy wiggle to his butt when he was laying on the carpet writing, not knowing that his master was watching. Rick had even learned to see beauty in the bruises. And Daryl was covered. They were all yellowing and Rick made a mental note that they’d have to have another session in the next day or two. It was the only way they could keep from standing out, but Rick tried to administer them the best way he could. He asked Daryl where it hurt the most and the least. It took months before he'd confess. The backs of his thighs hurt the most. His ass hurt the least. 

Daryl liked Rick to use his hands better than the whips or floggers. He loved to see the bruises bloom when they were shaped like Rick's hand. Rick’s fingerprints, quite literally all over him. When they lay together at night, Daryl would try to match up Rick's hand to the marks on his body and he’d smile at them as he traced the outline of Rick’s fingers. 

Daryl stood and walked over to the bed holding out his workbook and Rick put his textbook down and looked it over. There were words in Daryl's blocky handwriting under each picture. 

_CAt_  
PlAne  
Sun  
FAce  
HeArt  
Smile  
FRown  
Shoe  
CAR 

He struggled with lower case A’s and R’s, but Rick wouldn't mention it. He would be the only one to ever see his words and he knew what they meant. Correcting Daryl was difficult. The first time he spelled a word wrong he punched at his own thighs over and over, punishing himself until Rick grabbed his wrists and held them down. That had been the first time Rick ever yelled at him for real.

Rick knew this was all risky. It was dangerous letting Daryl become...Daryl. He struggled sometimes to keep his expression passive now. And Rick knew part of this was making things harder for Daryl. By showing him so much tenderness and affection, the pain had to be worse in comparison, but it was what made Rick happy- not to have a mindless save but to have a whole person.

“These are perfect, Daryl. You know so many words. Good boy.” Daryl bit at his bottom lip trying to keep from smiling. Rick knelt by the bed and pulled out a folder of other completed workbooks from between his mattresses. Then he grabbed all seven children’s book from his shelf. He handed everything to Daryl. 

“Now I want you to write me three sentences. Here are all the words you know.”

Daryl lifted a brow in question and Rick understood what he was thinking just by the look in his eyes. _What sentences?_

“I'm not going to tell you the sentences this time. You know how to read and listen and you know all these words. You come up with your own sentences. Whatever you want to write.”

Daryl pouted. He much preferred to be told exactly what to do. 

“I know it's hard work, but you're very smart aren't you?”

Daryl nodded and took the books back to his spot on the floor.

Rick turned back to his Evolution of Slavery textbook. He had Mr. Walsh again for it. He barely passed his Ownership class last semester, and this one was even harder. A lot of essays and reports and it was challenging for Rick to write these things that he disagreed with, that he sometimes just plain couldn’t understand regardless of the simple explanations. He was certain he’d fucked up royally when he asked Mr. Walsh about the freedom movement. It had been in the papers so it wasn’t like Rick was asking out of nowhere. It had been newsworthy, current events, but the look Mr. Walsh gave him was ice. Rick needed the class to graduate so he studied. He found his spot in the book and continued.

_...because each free man may only keep one son._

_Each free man may register for their one allotted breeding session but many enjoy the experience and crave the female form and the gentleness of the act of sex for reproduction. They may purchase additional sessions, but if another seed is planted, second sons are sent to slave mills. Naturally, the same goes for any additional sons after that._

_Some slaves are not acquired immediately after birth but are returned when father’s find they are unable to handle the infant. First sons may be returned for up to two years and they too will be raised as slaves._

_These are the standards we live by in our great southern states._

A half-hour later Daryl was back at Rick’s bed side proudly holding one of his sheets of paper. Rick couldn’t help but return the grin. Daryl was contagious. Rick read Daryl’s sentences out loud.

_MAsteR is pRetty._  
I like BAcon.  
Books ouR fun. 

Rick beamed. He would point out the incorrect “are” another day. These were Daryl’s very first own words and they were perfect. “You’re pretty, too,” Rick said with pure joy in his tone. He folded up Daryl’s note. “I’m going to keep this forever,” he said as he slid it into his nightstand. “Come sit on the bed. You did a good job today so you can have a reward.”

Daryl sat indian style closely in front of Rick and Rick gently pressed Daryl’s chest back so that he was laying on the bed. He used his hands to encourage Daryl to uncross his legs and he tugged at Daryl’s hips to pull him closer. Rick was still indian style looking down at Daryl’s hardening cock. He put his hand on it and softly stroked it. If Tobin ever found out that his son _touched_ a slave’s cock like that he would _kill_ Rick. Literally. Of that, Rick had no doubt. 

But god, these past months, Rick had fallen in love with watching Daryl writhing around under his touch. “You gonna let me hear you, beautiful?”

Daryl whimpered, his eyes squeezed shut, biting at his bottom lip, hands gripping the comforter. 

“I like to hear that,” Rick whispered as he started stroking Daryl with more conviction. “Are you ready to come? Do you want to?”

“mmhm,” Daryl whined. Rick knew from his ownership class that no matter how much he could teach Daryl, the brain was past the point of learning spoken words, so sighs and moans and gasps were all Rick could get. But God, the sound was like sunshine through dark clouds.

“Not until I say though,” Rick teased. He sped up his movements, slowed them, and sped them up again, Daryl moaning soft but wild. Then he slowed to a stop, removed his hand and climbed over Daryl, holding his face in Rick’s hands. Rick smiled devilishly. Daryl opened his eyes and looked at Rick, something he did with ease now and without the command, at least when they were alone. “Are you angry with me that I’m not letting you come?” Rick teased. Daryl made an angry face and nodded, a smile toying against his sarcastic pout. Rick kissed him soft on the mouth and Daryl’s lips parted eagerly.

As they kissed, mouths smashing together, tongues exploring and teeth nibbling, Rick reached between them and ran fingers over the tips of their cocks, sliding their precome down their lenghts with one hand and jerking them together. “You can come with me,” Rick whispered against Daryl’s kiss-swollen lips and Daryl whimpered again softly. Their bodies moved like blades of tall grass swept up in the wind, synchronized against one another in perfect rhythm. When he felt Daryl put his hands on Rick’s sides, Rick cried out and came hard, Daryl groaning in relief right along with him as instructed. 

Rick stayed on top of Daryl and continued kissing him until the come between them had practically glued them together. He put his mouth over each of Daryl’s nipples, spots that Daryl claimed he enjoyed having bruises, and Rick sucked hard at each one until they were swollen red and beginning to fade into dark purple, Daryl whimpering with desire the whole time. Rick finally got up and took Daryl by the hand to the bathroom. Tobin was working even though it was Saturday. The office building job was running way behind so Rick and Daryl had been very lucky lately getting uninterrupted time at the house. They stood in the shower taking turns washing each other. As Rick was sudsing Daryl’s hair, he said, “I actually think you deserve three rewards. It was three sentences after all.” Daryl nodded excitedly. Because he had learned to want.

After their shower, they went into the kitchen and Daryl started cooking. He'd recently taken over more household chores since they've been able to fool Tobin into how much Rick had changed and how well-trained Daryl had become. Rick hopped up on the counter and watched. He was making exactly what Tobin had on the menu that hung on the fridge. Steak and cheese sandwich with mushrooms. 

Rick would have loved to allow Daryl to eat with him, but they learned that lesson the hard way the first time Tobin was gone on a Saturday and Rick let Daryl sit down at the table and eat a hamburger and french fries. He was violently ill for hours. Rick had tried to do a little research in several of his history books but no one ever talked about feeding a slave anything but the standard dry slave food. He figured Daryl’s stomach was just not ready to handle too much at once. Daryl had been afraid to even take a cookie after that, but now they just knew to keep it in moderation. 

“Maybe you should just stick with your food for lunch. Reward number three is a new book and we have to go out for that. Can’t have you sick while we’re shopping.”

Daryl looked at Rick and frowned as he chopped up the steak in the hot skillet. “What?” Rick asked with a grin, knowing full well what the frown was for. 

Daryl held up two fingers and furrowed his brow. “Don’t worry, beautiful. I haven’t forgotten reward number two. We have to wait til after lunch.” Daryl made the angry face that he knew Rick adored and then let his smile mask it away quickly. 

Rick got Daryl’s food ready and put it on the floor with water. He tried to keep things in perspective at least a little on days like this. Daryl ate without a hint of indignation. He still believed he didn’t deserve anything more than what a slave deserves. And it was important that Rick make sure Daryl didn’t get too used to the good so that he could acclimate to the bad when it was needed. They ate in silence.

When Rick was done he took off his shirt and his jeans and dropped them on the kitchen floor. He picked up a small piece of cherry pie with a spatula from a box on the counter that had a few missing slices and stood over Daryl’s bowl with it. Daryl sat up on his knees, his hands fisted at his sides in a pose that spoke of begging. “I think you’ll like pie. Would you like to try some for your second reward?” Daryl nodded and got back to his hands and knees, staring at his dish, waiting for the new dessert to be dropped in his bowl, still not even responding to the fact that Rick had just stripped naked.

Rick grinned from ear to ear. “No. Not like that, Daryl. Come here,” he said as he backed up to the table, carefully slid on to it and placed the slice onto his belly as he laid back. 

Daryl stood over Rick and just looked at him, up and down. “No silverware needed. You can eat it with your mouth. What are you waiting for?”

Daryl moved slow and timid, leaning down to Rick’s stomach and he sniffed at it before tentatively taking a bite. He smiled as he swallowed. “Good, huh?” Rick asked. 

Rick hadn’t warmed the pie, so there really wasn’t any discomfort and for whatever reason, this was something he wanted to give Daryl. The slave ducked his head again and took a big lick of the filling and then leaned over to Rick and let him take the bite off Daryl’s tongue. Rick giggled. “You don’t have to feed me, baby. That’s for you to eat.” Daryl stole another kiss before he went back down to the pie and nibbled at it until it was gone. He licked all the stickiness from Rick’s belly and held his arms down and licked harder when Rick started to giggle. Rick nearly fell off the table trying to get away and right at the moment that Rick had wrestled himself out of Daryl’s clutches, both of them gasping for air from laughing, he heard the sound of Tobin’s keys at the door. 

Daryl ran to the sliding door and let himself out to go pee while Rick frantically dressed. By the time Tobin reached the top of the steps, Rick’s breathing was back to normal. “Is it too late to take him back? He cooks like shit,” Rick said. “And it takes him forever to clean up,” he added as he looked around at the counters and realized it hadn’t been done.

“Where the hell is he?” Tobin grumbled. Clearly another bad day and another bad mood. 

“Pissing,” Rick answered. “Stupid of me. I know. Shouldn’t have let him go until he was done.” 

Tobin sat down and ran his hands through his hair as Eric crawled under the table in his usual position. The house slave had been covered in more bruises than normal since things at the job site had gotten more stressful. Tobin kicked a powerful boot into his side. “You’re back in charge of cooking, Eric. Daryl can take over cleaning the kitchen floor instead.” 

Rick tried to keep his face expressionless. He royally fucked that up. Tonguing clean the kitchen floor took hours and now that would be time lost with Daryl. Goddamnit.

*********************

Rick had Daryl on all fours in the aisle of the bookstore for his final reward. The position was strategic so that if anyone turned down the aisle it would look like Rick was getting ready to sit. He was squatting next to him flipping through writing workbooks that were a higher level. He had four of them stacked on Daryl’s back and had moved on to new readers. He opened one and he looked around to make sure the coast was clear. He held it under Daryl’s gaze. “It’s all about trains!” Rick whispered excitedly. “You’ll like this one!”

And it was that quick. Because how long did it really take for another customer to turn a corner of shelves. Six seconds? Two? Rick fell off balance when he tried to pull the open book away from Daryl’s view. The stranger looked Rick up and down. 

Rick laughed nervously. “I...I dropped this book.”

“Did you now, son?” the stranger asked. He had to have seen. He knew. He knew exactly what was happening and Rick felt naked and panicked and he desperately wanted to put his arms around Daryl to protect him. 

Rick swallowed hard and looked behind the grey-haired stranger with the funny hat. “Umm...where’s yours?” he asked, trying to get the focus off of what he _knows_ he was caught red-handed doing.

“Stolen,” the man simply said. Rick twisted his thumbs into his belt loops nervously. 

“Oh. Yeah. Heard about those kinda things happening on the news. Sorry about that.” Rick hesitated and then knew he’d have to make an offer. This man would not stop looking at him, suspicious. Knowing. He knew. He probably knew everything. The reading, the cherry pie, the touching, the kisses. Rick could feel his face burning hot with blush. He picked up the work books from Daryl’s back and tucked the train book behind them. 

“You probably … you can go ahead and use him since yours was taken.” 

The man looked down at Daryl and back up at Rick. “I don’t believe you really want that, Rick,” he said. 

Rick’s breath caught in his throat. “How do you know my name?” he whispered. 

“We have a mutual friend, son.” 

Rick blinked rapidly. He looked around the empty aisle and ran through his mental rolodex. He didn’t have a lot of friends. Gareth had tutored him last semester in Ownership 101. He was sorta friendly with a couple other guys from his architecture classes, Zack and Theodore. He knew a bunch of his dad’s god-awful friends but he knows… he _knows_ he’s never seen this man before. 

“I don’t know you,” Rick said cautiously as he stepped forward a bit to put himself between the stranger and his property. 

The man looked around Rick and back down at Daryl. “His marks.”

“What about them?” 

“They’re all from your hands,” the man whispered. He kept his voice low as he continued. “I saw when you walked in. Nothing on his thighs, front or back. The ones on his nipples? They… don’t look like they’re from clamps. And the rest of the marks are all turning green and yellow. You’re administering punishments all at once like homework, not spread out as the mood strikes you.” 

Rick didn’t respond. His mind was flashing through a thousand things he should say but none of them would come out. 

“You drop books like that under his eyes often, son?”

“He’s mine. If yours got stole, go buy another one,” Rick said, starting to get creeped out. 

“You know what happens to stolen slaves, right?” the man whispered. “Probably the underground. Mine’s probably half-way to the northern states right now. Best look out for yours.” The man moved his gaze back up from Daryl to Rick. Looked him straight in the eye. “You ever have reason to talk about yours and the north- I might be able to help. I know you know what I mean, son.” The man pulled a business card from of his pocket and held it out. Rick looked down at it. 

_Dale Horvath  
Antiques Dealer_

Rick looked back up, but the man was gone. He looked up and down the aisles on either side of them and then noticed the funny hat walking through the front doors. He shoved the card in his pocket and grabbed Daryl’s bicep to help him up. “Come on, Daryl. Let’s get out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so thankful for all your comments and support.
> 
> This fic has not been beta'd.

Daryl was tied up in the playroom. His wrists and ankles were bound with rope and pulled tight in all four directions, rope burns already forming on all four appendages. Dale Horvath had noticed the special care that had been taken to mark Daryl and that was a problem. Even if Dale was for real, a real member of the freedom movement, if he could notice these things, then Tobin might. Or anyone else- teachers, potential employers, friends of his father’s. It was a problem and they both knew it. When they got back to the house after the strange encounter at the bookstore, Daryl walked into the playroom and climbed onto the table without even being instructed. Rick bound him wordlessly, too busy inside his own head to engage in conversation. Could Dale be the real thing? Was his slave really sent to the north? Has he sent others? What was it really like there? 

Daryl was face up and stretched out beneath him. Rick climbed on top of him and pushed his hands into Daryl’s shoulders like he was forcing him down. He gripped harder and harder with his fingers, keeping his eyes off Daryl’s face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Daryl whined which was very unlike him and Rick shot his eyes up to Daryl’s face. He was looking at Rick and he bit at his bottom lip then opened his mouth just slightly and struggled to lift his head. Rick gave in to Daryl’s unspoken request and kissed him gently as he squeezed bruises into Daryl’s beautiful broad shoulders. He nibbled and sucked at Daryl’s lips and rocked himself against his slave. When he tried to pull away, Daryl lifted his head back up quickly and bit onto Rick’s lower lip, tugging him back down. 

“I love you, Daryl,” Rick whispered against his slave’s eager mouth. And Daryl moaned in response. After a few extra minutes, Rick pulled away and took his hands off Daryl. He could see half a dozen finger-sized bruises filling in. 

“I have to use a flogger. You understand why, right? Could you understand what happened tonight? That man can tell what we are doing. He knows. We can’t let anyone else find out. It could be bad. Do you understand?”

Daryl nodded. 

“Will you forgive me when I’m done?”

Daryl nodded.

Rick climbed off and grabbed the small flogger from one of the drawers. Daryl was still watching him, so much more brazen now. “Daryl. Beautiful, you know I can’t have you looking at me.”

Daryl nodded and slowly closed his eyes. Rick looked Daryl’s body up and down. It was clear that the area from his abdomen to his thighs was purposefully unmarked. No fading yellows or greens. No scars. Looking now, it’s a miracle they hadn’t been called out before. Rick closed his eyes and tried to get angry. Thought about how different it would be once he got a job and moved out. It was Tobin that made this life so horribly difficult. Tobin who was always so hard on Rick. Who still took hold of Daryl like he owned him instead of Rick owning him. When he opened his eyes back up he was filled with rage and he used it. 

He swung the flogger against Daryl’s thighs over and over again, several swings landing some of the widespread leather knots against Daryl’s cock. Then he moved up to swing it over Daryl’s delicate, sensitive stomach, turning the beautiful tone of his natural skin to an angry red. He swung with all his might, angry at Tobin. Angry at society. Angry at Daryl for being so sweet and making Rick soft and pathetic, for making Rick desperately in love with him. How could Rick ever get them away from this life? It was all on his shoulders. Daryl was his. His to protect and to care for and to love.

After way too much time passed, Rick stopped. He took a few moments to catch his breath, avoiding even the quickest glance at Daryl’s face. He untied the ropes, pleased at the marks they left. He moved Daryl so that he was on his feet and bent over the table and Rick grabbed a whip and smacked it against Daryl’s back with enough force to ensure at least a dozen scars and then he threw it to the ground in disgust. Rick sank to the floor next to it, leaving Daryl where he was, bent over and waiting. 

His stomach hurt. His heart ached. His skull throbbed. He wrapped arms around Daryl’s leg and kissed his calf as his breaths turned into soft sobs. Daryl didn’t move or respond. And for a moment Rick considered what would have happened if this had been another slave. If Rick just had a normal life and a normal slave and he didn’t have any of these feelings. Any of this worry or concern. No hurt and no love And the thought of it made him empty and made him cry even more. 

Rick finally composed himself and stood behind Daryl, quiet. Daryl finally turned around, his eyes obediently lowered, and he reached for Rick’s hand and put it flat against his ass and bent back over. Rick rubbed at his soft, tender cheek and sighed. He smacked repeatedly, counting them to a hundred in his head, watching as the skin tinged pink, then dark red.

When Rick opened the door to leave the room, Tobin was coming up the stairs with Eric. 

“Cook, I’m starving,” Tobin slurred. Rick tensed. His father must have gone out drinking with some of the guys while Rick and Daryl were gone that afternoon. Tobin drunk was way worse than Tobin sober and Rick suddenly wished he’d skipped the whole marking session because he was sure Tobin was going to inflict some pain before the end of the night. 

Eric obediently went to work in the kitchen and Tobin turned to Rick and Daryl. He looked them both up and down. “He clean the kitchen floor yet, Rick?” Tobin asked. Rick should have known. Should have heard the trickery in his voice, but he’d just spent an hour flogging his love and he didn’t want Daryl to go through two hours on his hands and knees.

“Yeah,” Rick lied. “This morning.”

Tobin nodded and smiled. “This morning. Ok. Good. That’s good.” It was a trick. Rick knew it. He watched his father walk to the far corner of the kitchen and swipe his finger along the linoleum. He walked back and grabbed Daryl by the hair shoving the finger into his mouth. “The hot sauce I spilled earlier doesn’t seem to be removed from my kitchen floor,” Tobin slurred. He threw Daryl to the ground and kicked him in the ribs hard with his steel-toed boot. 

“Dad! No!” Rick yelled. “He didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one that lied to-”

Tobin turned to Rick and Rick fell silent under his glare. “You’re right. Having him licking the floor clean isn’t going to punish you. You want to remember what it’s like not to have a slave?” Tobin stomped back to Daryl, who was already obediently licking the floor, and pulled him to his feet by his hair. “You’re worthless, slave. And you know what? I keep all my useless shit in the closet.”

Tobin opened the hall closet where old coats and bowling balls and broken vacuum cleaners lived and he tossed Daryl in forcefully and slammed the door shut. “Go to your room, Rick. You’re grounded for the rest of the night for lying to me.”

“I can’t… I… he’s mine, Dad. MINE! How am I supposed to learn to be better with him if you take him away?”

“Go to your room,” Tobin said sternly as he locked the door with the thin key that they kept above the door frame. He put it in his pocket. 

“He hasn’t eaten since breakfast and I haven’t taken him out.”

“He will sit in there until morning and you will go to bed with nothing. No dinner. No Daryl.” Tobin turned and stalked back to the kitchen as the smell of pork chops filled the air. 

Rick waited quietly in his room that night until Tobin had passed out and he slipped into the hallway and tugged at the still locked closet door. He reached up on the door frame hoping to God that Tobin had eventually put the key back and finally, finally- something worked out in his favor. He unlocked the door and opened it to find Daryl curled up on the floor, sucking his thumb. His back still bloody and the bruises along his ribcage bright and angry. “Daryl,” Rick whispered. “It’s time for us to go.”

Daryl stirred awake and rubbed at his eyes. When they focused on Rick, Daryl smiled happily as if the the beating Rick gave him, Tobin’s kicks and his anger, and 7 hours alone in the closet were nothing. Rick reached his hand out and Daryl took it. “We’re going for a drive, ok?”

After Rick let Daryl relieve himself, they walked hand in hand to Rick’s car. It was dark out, only a skinny moon and a far off street lamp for light. As Rick opened the passenger side door, he looked at Daryl closely. A bruise had formed along the side of his face and he had a black eye. There was dark mottled bruising at his ribs and Rick could tell the damage was worse than normal. Daryl held a defensive hand over the injury instead of leaving his arms drop to their sides. “Does this hurt?” Rick asked. 

Daryl hesitated a bit but eventually nodded. “Ok, beautiful. I don’t want to hurt you any more. I don’t want my dad to. I want to take care of you. For real. I need you to trust me ok? Like you always do. Get in the car.” Rick walked to the driver’s side trying not show the tears that started to form. He took the card out of his pocket and looked at the address again. It was late. Three in the morning. But if Dale was who he seemed to be, then Rick bet anything he worked rather late hours.

The antique shop was along a street hidden with lots of other storefronts, some closed for the night, a couple bars that were still hopping, some apartments and a 24-hour laundromat.

Rick waited in the car for a while, just observing the traffic. No one was paying attention to the Antique shop or the apartment door next to it. He replayed his meeting with Dale again and he couldn't figure out a reason that it wouldn't be legit. Rick saw the man’s expression, the unfamiliar sight of compassion in it. It was really his only hope.

Rick got out and opened Daryl's door, reaching out a hand when he saw how Daryl struggled to move from the pain in his side. He kept Daryl's hand tightly in his own as they stood at the door, Rick knocking softly.

After several minutes and one more attempt at knocking, the door cracked open.

“Rick. What are you… Come in,” he said, waving them both in. He was in a robe and the parlor they walked into was dimly lit by several old-fashioned lamps.

They stood quiet as Dale looked Daryl up and down. He pointed at Daryl's forehead and waved over his rib cage. “You didn't make these ones,” he said flatly.

“No. My father. It's not safe anymore.” Rick squeezed Daryl's hand tight. “I don't know what to do. I have four more weeks in this semester and still another year til I graduate. I can't get us out of the house until I have my degree.”

Dale nodded and ran a hand over Daryl's tender mid-section. Before Rick could ask another question he jumped at the sound of a door opening from the back of the house. He pulled Daryl behind him out of instinct.

“It's alright. Just my...delivery guy.”

The new man walked in cautiously and eyed the situation. Dale looked to him. “That run go ok?”

“Yeah. All done. What's going on here?”

“This is Rick and …” Dale turned to Rick for a name and it confused him for a second. No one ever introduced slaves by name. No one ever asked a slave's name.

“Uhh- this is my...This is Daryl.”

The new man reached out his hand to Rick and shook firmly. “Aaron.”

Then Aaron looked at Daryl, took his hand and shook it. Rick had never seen anything like it before in his life. Where in the hell have these people been the past seven months!? Aaron ran fingers over Daryl's side then tilted his forehead to the light. “Just badly bruised I think. Let me get him some ice.”

“Sit down,” Dale said waving to an old, ornate sofa. Dale sat across from them in a chair that looked like it belonged in a castle.

Rick sat and Daryl knelt in front of him, tucking his face into Rick's crotch and nuzzling against it as Rick brushed fingers through his hair.

“It's better there,” Dale started. “In the north. Still slaves, but treated better. Some have been granted freedom by their owners. Still can’t speak or anything and can only work manual labor, but they’re free. Live in boarding houses.” Dale looked down at Rick petting his slave. “Some stay with their masters. The need to use them as a show of power and influence is nowhere near as prevalent once you cross the New York state line.”

Aaron came back with two ice packs. Rick took them and had Daryl hold one to his ribs as Rick held the other to his eye.

“Got a bunch of safe houses over the New York state line where we bring slaves like Daryl. When owners don't want them to be hurt anymore. Or can't stomach doing the hurting anymore,” Aaron added.

Rick shook his head. “He can't go to New York by himself. I...I don't want to...I was hoping maybe you could just hide him here til I graduate. I could visit him and-”

Dale sighed. “Rick. We can't do that. Too many come through here. We can't harbor any here. It's too dangerous.”

“My dad’s gonna end up killing him. Things aren't good at work for him. He's been drinking more and-”

“We can get him to safety,” Aaron interrupted.

Rick petted at Daryl's head. He didn't seem to be paying much attention to the conversation, just nuzzling his head and scratching his thumb against Rick’s thigh. “You can suck it,” Rick whispered. He watched his beautiful slave, completely at peace between Rick’s thighs as he slipped the thumb between his lips. Was it selfish to keep him? Rick wasn’t like the rest of the world, he didn’t want to dominate his slave, he just wanted to love him. But was it selfish to keep Daryl at an increasingly unsafe environment because Rick didn’t want to be without him? Couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping alone? Of not getting to watch him wiggling his butt on the floor while he wrote his words? Not getting to giggle with him and talk to him and have someone who loved him unconditionally?

Rick lifted Daryl’s chin. “Look at me,” he whispered and Daryl did. His eyes just glad to be on Rick. His expression peaceful. 

Rick looked back up to Aaron, then Dale. “Where you take him… You’ll be able to tell me? I’ll know where to find him as soon as I can leave?”

Aaron nodded and Dale spoke. “Aaron will let you know the address. You memorize it and you never, ever write it down. Ever. We can take him tonight, Rick. Get him healed up without having to serve your old man with those injuries.”

Daryl moved even tighter to Rick and tucked his head back against his crotch. Rick kissed the top of his head, tears burning his eyes and running down his cheeks. “Daryl, I need to you to go with Aaron. Tonight. I can’t-”

“Nnnnnnn!” Daryl shouted, arms wrapping a death grip around Rick’s leg. 

“Daryl it’s not safe. I’ll come for you, I promise, I-”

“NNNnnnnnn!!!!” Daryl whined, pounding his fist against the front of his thigh with one hand and holding tight to Rick with the other. 

“Daryl, No one will hurt you ever-”

Daryl pulled his head away from Rick’s touch and slammed it into the antique coffee table, once, twice, and going for a third before Aaron could run over and help Rick control him. 

“Daryl!” Rick commanded with a weak, weepy voice. “You don’t do that! You use words.” Rick looked up to Dale. I need a pen and paper.”

Dale looked at him confused and then nodded for Aaron to go fetch some. 

“I’ll listen to you.” Rick said softly to Daryl, taking a notepad and pen from Aaron. “Why don’t you want to go? Are you afraid of strangers? Afraid I won’t find you again? Do you understand where you’d be going? A good place where you aren’t hurt anymore.” Rick gave him the pen and knelt down by Daryl’s side, guiding him to the notepad on the coffee table. Daryl began writing with the pen tightly fisted in his hand. 

_No No No No No. DARyl stAys with mAsteR._

Rick heard the two men across the table whisper in disbelief. He heard Dale say “Rick Grimes” and then after another unintelligible whisper from Aaron, Dale quietly answered “Architect.”

“But I promise I’ll come back for you. You won’t ever have to be hurt again in the north. It’s different there. We can be together our way. All the time.”

_No No No. DARyl wAits. ScARed Alone. StAy with MAsteR. Love MAsteR AlwAys._

Daryl started openly sobbing, tears staining his bruised cheek as he softly punched at his thigh again. Rick choked back a sob of his own. “I can’t send him. I can’t. If he can’t stay here, I have to take him back home. I’m sorry I wasted your time.” Rick stood and reached for Daryl and as his slave stood, he wrapped his arms around his master and hugged, tucking his head under Rick’s chin. “It’s ok, beautiful. We’re going home. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Rick,” Dale said as he stood slowly. “I’ll figure something out for you. I will. I’ll be in touch, ok?”

Rick looked at him a long time. “Like what?”

“I have some ideas. Try not to leave him alone with your father. Try to stay out of his sight. You have my number on the card. If it’s an emergency you call. Otherwise, I’ll contact you soon.”

“You don’t have my number,” Rick said. 

“I know how to find you, Rick.”

Daryl fell asleep in the car on the way back home. It was 4:30 a.m. and Tobin would definitely be out for another few hours. After Rick woke Daryl with soft kisses to his forehead, they walked back inside and Rick opened the closet door. “We have to play by his rules until we can escape, you understand that right?” 

Daryl nodded and smiled. And he leaned in and kissed Rick timidly on the lips. Rick playfully swatted at him. “You are pretty aggressive for a slave, you know that?” Daryl smiled again and pecked two more kisses against Rick’s mouth then sat down on the floor and allowed Rick to shut and lock the door. Rick went back to his room and grabbed Goodnight Moon. After all these months it was still Daryl’s very favorite. Rick sat with his back against the hall closet and opened the book. ““In the great green room there was a telephone and a red balloon and a picture….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I look forward to your feedback!
> 
> Cheers!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Sunny for an idea she gave me in a comment that made it into this chapter! 
> 
> This fic is unbeta'd.

Rick didn't sleep. After he read Daryl a story by the closet door, he went back to his room and sat on the floor with his back against the door so he'd hear when Tobin woke.

Finally around 8:30, sun dripping in the windows and morning birds singing, Tobin's bedroom door opened and Rick listened to him shuffling towards the kitchen. He jumped up and threw his own door opened to follow. As Tobin was sitting in his seat and Eric was starting pancakes, Rick entered and slid into his spot.

“I’m sorry, dad. You were right and I was wrong. I lied cause I was selfish and I wanted to use Daryl and I knew it would take forever for the floor.” Rick dragged out the word forever with an eye roll, attempting to act like he was more put out than Daryl was. Tobin just glared at Rick in suspicion and then finally nodded.

“You know not everyone gets a slave for an 18th birthday present. Some kids don't get one till they graduate university and some don't get any period. It's not cheap. They are expensive to buy and to feed. You are privileged Rick. I've worked my fingers to the bone to give you good things in life and it'd be nice if I got a little appreciation once in awhile.”

All Rick could think about was how to steer the conversation in the direction of getting Daryl out of the closet but he had to try not to rush it.

“I do appreciate you, dad.” It was a lie, really. But this was one he thought he could actually sell. “I haven't even taken advantage of being able to get your help with homework. You know I could use help with my slavery classes. Stupid of me not to come to you.” Rick has never kissed ass this hard in his life. He’d always been a good son. An obedient child. But he was nearly making himself sick from this pathetic groveling.

Tobin leaned forward, elbows on the table and incredibly interested in being asked for help as Eric put down plates of fluffy, perfectly cooked pancakes dripping with syrup.

“Thought I could talk to you about this essay-” Rick cut himself off like it was a spur of the moment thought instead of something he'd been planning all night. “Oh, hey. Want me to get him started on the floor?” Rick said matter-of-factly as he pointed towards the hall closet.

“Yeah, fine,” Tobin grumbled. “He don't piss or eat til he's done, though. 

Rick shrugged like he didn’t care. “Fine. But you know, you really should let me start taking more control of his care and deciding stuff like that. I know you're teaching me, and I appreciate that, but he _is_ mine. I know I need to be stronger with him.” Rick walked to the closet slowly, trying to force an aura of ambivalence around himself.

“Well, I just don’t see you putting in very much effort.”

“I'm trying. I'm excited about this essay I wanted to talk over with you.” Rick opened the closet door and Daryl was waiting on his knees, eyes on the ground. He looked up as the door opened and Rick mouthed “Hi, beautiful,” and winked. He grabbed Daryl by the upper arm and dragged him to the kitchen and pushed him as gently as he could to the corner of the floor. “Clean it,” Rick ordered as he sat back down to his breakfast. 

“What's the essay about?” Tobin asked with his mouth full.

“Humiliation and why. That's the whole assignment. I have to write 2500 words on it for class Tuesday.”

Tobin grunted. “That's good. You been using punishment ok it seems, but I don't see you really embracing the dehumanizing and degrading aspects of ownership. You get a lot more miles out of that than just a whipping.” 

And the rest of breakfast was a one-sided conversation about all the things Tobin has done to Eric over the years, complete with sadistic laughter. Tobin even demonstrated one of the most demoralizing techniques right there in the damn kitchen once his plate was empty. He had Eric kneel and open his mouth. Without any warning, Tobin pulled down his fly, took out his dick and pissed a hard stream of urine into Eric’s throat. The slave swallowed obediently but the stream was too heavy for him to catch it all and urine spilled out of the sides of his mouth and splashed onto the floor. By the end of the stream, Tobin had stopped aiming for Eric’s mouth and just pissed the rest over his face and hair, smiling proudly as he did it. 

“Humiliation is a good time for the milking too, Rick,” Tobin explained. “Keeps enjoyment down and it’s entertaining for us. In fact, it’s been a week or so and I’m lucky he hasn’t been spilling in his sleep.” Tobin’s attention went back to Eric. “Put your dick on the floor, right in my piss and fuck my piss till you come.” 

Eric obeyed and Tobin pressed a boot to his sopping wet head. “Face on the floor, cunt,” Tobin snarled with an anger towards Eric that Rick could never understand. Afterwards, Rick ordered Daryl to be sure to clean up the urine and the slave jizz left on the floor near Tobin’s chair and Tobin looked pleased with the order. “And after that, lick the piss off of Eric. Lick it off of his face and suck it out of his hair. I don’t want to have to waste too terrible much shampoo on him,” Tobin ordered.

That took most of the day for Daryl. Rick spent their evening giving Daryl a long, slow bath, brushing his teeth for half an hour and feeding him pieces of cookie as they read together. Rick gave Daryl the night off from writing and they fell asleep together with a book still open on Rick’s lap.

*********  
_Four Days Later_

Rick's knee bounced uncontrollably under his desk, his pencil eraser drumming a matching beat on his open notebook. Rick hadn't been able to sit still since the weekend. He knew Tobin was at work when Rick was in school, but he still couldn't shake the worry of his father getting off early for some reason and hurting Daryl. It was bad enough the things he did to both the slaves while Rick was there, but he didn't want Daryl to be in the house alone, without Rick, and going through wherever sadistic shit Tobin could think up next. Rick at least had to _be_ there even if he felt helpless to do anything yet.

Rick looked at his watch. Two minutes left in class. Mr. Walsh was walking up and down the aisles returning the essays from earlier in the week. Rick worked hard on that paper and it ripped his heart out to write it. He tried to use what Tobin talked about, humiliation and how it can motivate and create a better slave. Rick felt good about it. Felt like maybe he'd see his first B at least. Thought if he could bring home a good grade like that, maybe Tobin would let Rick be more in control with Daryl. As it was, the week had been difficult. Mostly the same old, same old, which was bad enough. But mid-week Tobin had hosted a poker night and “borrowed” Daryl under the tables to give one blow job after another after another for five straight hours, as Eric stayed in position over the toilet all night for Tobin’s guests to piss on like a urinal. 

The other students started chattering and comparing grades. High-fiving. Mr. Walsh finally stopped at Rick's chair and he put his essay face down on the desk. “See me after class, Mr. Grimes,” Mr. Walsh said sternly.

Rick looked up and nodded, his knee still bouncing uncontrollably. It had been almost a week and Dale hadn't been in touch. Rick was losing hope that there would be any kind of simple fix so he really needed this to be a good grade. As Mr. Walsh walked past him, Rick turned his paper over. 

_D-_

Rick dropped his head into his hands. How can he be this monumentally bad at understanding simple history and facts. 

“Alright gang. See you next week,” Mr. Walsh finally said. The room erupted in the packing of bags and sliding of chairs. “I want everyone to have chapter five read and be ready to discuss it on Tuesday,” Mr. Walsh shouted over the noise.

Rick waited until most of the students were out of their chairs and heading out the back doors before he stood, threw his books in his bag and trudged to the front of the classroom. Mr. Walsh was shuffling through some papers and tucking them into his briefcase.

“Mr. Walsh, I really thought I did good on this one. Talked to my father about it and every-”

“It was an unusual point of view, Mr. Grimes,” Mr. Walsh interrupted.

“Huh?”

Mr. Walsh met Rick's eyes and stopped fumbling in his briefcase. “Everyone else wrote about using humiliation and how that helped to train an obedient slave.”

“That's what I did,” Rick said defensively. 

Mr. Walsh shot a gaze over Rick's shoulder as the last of the students shuffled noisily out the door. “Yours was the only one written about how the slave views the humiliation. Everyone else wrote it showing how an owner benefits from it. The pride it brings the master.”

Rick looked down at his paper. “Oh.” The last of the students filed out and the door echo’d through the empty hall as it finally closed. It was suddenly pin-drop silent. When he looked back up, Mr. Walsh had pulled an envelope from his briefcase and was handing it to Rick.

Rick took it instinctively. “What's this?”

“From a mutual friend,” Shane said and he went back to packing up his briefcase.

Rick paled and sucked in a breath of air. “What!?” He whispered.

“It's an application for an apprenticeship at Blake, Monroe and Anderson Architectural Firm.”

Rick opened the envelope and started looking over the contents.

Mr. Walsh stopped packing up. “Rick, listen to me. You need to pay attention to this.” Rick looked up, his mind reeling. Mr. Walsh!?! All this damned time??

“The interview is guaranteed. All you have to do is fill this out and send it in. We have one man on the inside. I’m not privy to knowing which of the three it is. But he's with us. The other two are old south through and through. The interview will happen, but you have to sell yourself to convince the other two to hire you. Our man can try to convince the other two to select you, but you got to give him something to work with.”

Rick's hands shook as he looked back down at the papers he held. He couldn't wait to get home and tell Daryl. If he could start saving money and keep humoring Tobin, maybe they could move away even sooner than graduation.

“Rick. Are you listening?”

Rick looked back up from the application.

“Yeah.”

“If our man can get you in, he’ll be able to arrange for an immediate transfer to Ithica, New York for the summer apprenticeship. If you can get up there and get Daryl comfortable and situated with some of our other friends, you might be able to convince him to stay while you finish university. Tell the old man he was stolen.”

Rick blinked in surprise. Daryl? They remembered Daryl's name and told it to Shane? A name- like Daryl was a real person to them.

“Rick. Do you understand? You need to get that application in the mail tomorrow.”

Rick nodded, looking back down at the papers in his hand. “I will.”

He turned to leave and then stopped and looked back. “Mr. Walsh?”

“Yeah?”

“How...how can you do this?” Rick asked, waving his hand at the lecture hall.

“Need people on the front lines, Rick. Looking for others like us. Don't find as much as we’d like. But when I find someone...help people like you and Daryl? I can sleep at night.”

Rick nodded. “Thank you.”

“Get hired,” Mr. Walsh responded with a curt nod.

*************

By the time Rick got home, his head was spinning. Tobin wasn't home yet. And Daryl would be asleep on the floor in Rick's room, not in his normal curled up, thumb sucking position, but in the “there's a chance Tobin could come home first” position. On his knees, legs spread wide, his chest and head resting on the carpet, arms stretched above his head.

Rick ran up the stairs shouting for Daryl and by the time he reached his room, his slave was on his feet walking to him. Rick crashed into him and hugged him tightly, the boot-shaped bruise along his ribs finally fading. Rick kissed the corner of Daryl’s eyes, his hairline, his forehead. He peppered kisses down his cheek as Daryl started giggling, finally letting out a childlike squeal when Rick’s lips kissed the tip of his nose. 

“I missed you today, Daryl.” Rick said as he brushed hair back from Daryl’s face. He pressed his lips against Daryl’s, his heart throbbing at the way Daryl’s lips parted for him, making a perfect space for their mouths to slot together like they were made to be connected. Rick held Daryl’s face in his hands as he kicked the door shut, locked it and walked him back to the bed, Rick peeling off his clothes as they went. He leaned over Daryl when they got to the bed until the slave was flat on the bed below him.

Rick was hard as a rock and he suddenly wanted to be inside of Daryl with a more urgent desire than ever before. Finally he’d be able to give Daryl good things. The way Rick felt when Daryl took a piece of bacon or a cookie from his hands, the rush of happiness from getting to see Daryl happy? Rick couldn’t imagine how much deeper that would be to take Daryl away from all this. Away from Tobin. Away from SlavePro shops. Away from the southern standards of marking. Away from all the humiliation. They could live. They could both live. Together. Equal. 

Rick moaned at the warmth of Daryl’s body against his own, the feel of Daryl’s hands deciding where to touch Rick on their own, hands rubbing gentle over his lower back, carressing his hips, a surprise finger rubbing innocently against Rick’s jawline.

“Daryl,” Rick whispered. “I might have a way to save us both.” Rick sucked on Daryl’s lower lip as they both started rocking in rhythm, hard cock against hard cock and quick breaths and low moans. “God, Daryl. I want you so bad. I love you so much,” Rick murmured as he planted kisses along Daryl’s collar bone. 

Rick slid off Daryl and reached into his nightstand searching around for the lube. When he pulled it out and looked back to face Daryl, his beautiful slave was on all fours, waiting. Rick sat back on his heals and tilted his head at Daryl. 

“No. Not like that. On your back, Daryl. I want you to look at me. I want to look at you. Want to see you. I want to be in your body and look in your eyes at the same time.” 

Daryl moved slowly, laying back on the bed and Rick lubed a few fingers and stroked his cock a few times. He slid a finger into his slave- his lover- and he pulsed it, explored with it, wanted to touch every surface of Daryl he could reach. At the second finger, Rick curled them in and ran them along the walls of Daryl’s entrance, suddenly landing on a hard knot that felt slightly different than the rest of Daryl’s insides and the slave arched his back dramatically as desperate gasps sprung from his usually quiet lips. Rick rubbed the spot again and Daryl groaned loud over and over, his head thrown back and his eyes squeezed shut. 

“Daryl look at me,” Rick said. And Daryl did. His eyes blown wide, teeth biting against his bottom lip, chest heaving with uneven breaths. Rick ran his fingers over that magic spot again and a long, low whimper stuttered from Daryl’s soft voice. Daryl’s eyes begging, pleading for Rick to keep touching him. Daryl wanted. He _wanted_. And Rick felt a swell of privilege to be the object of Daryl’s desire, that he could give Daryl something so nice, something that made his body squirm like this. 

Rick pulled his fingers out and Daryl grabbed tight to Rick’s shoulders. “I’m not going to leave you, beautiful. I’m here.” Rick stroked his cock to lube it up and pressed into Daryl, slow and steady. He tried to adjust his angle to get his cock to slide against the secret place in Daryl that Rick had found. And he knew instantly when he hit it. Daryl arched up again and groaned loudly, almost a predatory growl.

Daryl’s eyes opened again and locked onto Rick’s as Rick thrust deep into him, panting, his cock sheathed in Daryl’s burning hot tightness. Daryl’s hands slid down Rick’s arms till they were at his wrists and Rick twisted his hands up to hold on to each of Daryl’s. He pumped more frantically, more desperately into Daryl, holding hands tight together, eyes locked, gasps synchronized. 

“Daryl. God, Daryl,” Rick whispered.

And the growl again. Low and steady. Then a little louder and clearer so that Rick could hear. It wasn’t a “grrr”, it was an “Rrrrr..” and Rick believed it was his name. His name on Daryl’s tongue, his hands in Daryl’s hands, his cock in Daryl’s beautiful ass and Rick thrust harder and gasped wilder. He pulled one of his hands out of Daryl’s death grip on his fingers and slipped it between them, grabbing Daryl’s cock and pumping it as he moved. “Come with me Daryl. I wanna be with you. Want us to spill at the same t-” Rick grunted and tensed, his cock releasing fierce jets of seed into his groaning lover. He felt the hot, stickiness of Daryl’s orgasm seeping through his fingers and he slowly slid out and sat back on his knees. He tilted his head, panting, a smile on his face that he can’t imagine ever fading. Not with this bliss. 

He looked down at his hand, still sticky with Daryl’s release and he brought it to his mouth and licked it, Daryl snickering below him causing Rick to grin wide and blush. “You think I look funny licking your come?” Rick asked playfully. Daryl nodded, a mischievous smile lighting up his face. 

“Then you lick it,” Rick said and put his hand out for Daryl to lick clean. Daryl did. Obediently. Eagerly. And he looked so happy doing it that Rick found himself leaning in to join him. Both of them licking off Rick’s hand together until they ran out of sticky hand to deal with and tongue licked against tongue. Their lips finally locking back together as Rick moved to lay on the bed beside Daryl. They kissed slow and giggled until they heard the slam of a door that meant Tobin was home. Rick ran a hand through Daryl’s hair. “I have a plan, beautiful. I’m going to save you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys make my day with such in-depth comments! It keeps me plowing through this knowing how excited you all are for each update.
> 
> We all have Sunny to thank for the scene with Daryl saying "Rrrrrr" for Rick. Like I've mentioned, I get a lot of inspiration from your comments, so thanks to all of you who have left me such kind words, great questions and wonderful ideas.
> 
> Cheers!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with this chapter. I hope it's ok.

The public library had become a second home for Rick and Daryl. Sitting quietly at the library, they wouldn't have to be at the whim of Tobin’s ever-shifting moods. And Rick wouldn't feel self conscious about studying harder than he ever has in his entire life. He already worried that Tobin would eventually see through him, somehow suspect that Rick had this grand plan to escape, at least for a few months and to take Daryl away forever. They’d been coming every day since the moment Rick dropped the application in the mail, nearly two weeks ago. Tobin was left under the impression that Rick was going out with new friends. Friends who had slaves, too. And the only thing Rick had to do to sell it, was come up with some sick ideas of the fun they had with their slaves so he could talk about it at dinner. So far Tobin had believed everything, regardless of how disturbing Rick’s fiction was.

Daryl was sitting on the table, a Future of Architecture book open in his lap and facing Rick so that he could look up and reference it as needed while he made notes in a spiral notebook. The interview was only a few days away. He knew he couldn’t win this job with his slave handling skills, although he had a page in the back of the notebook with ideas of how to incorporate Daryl into the interview. So Rick’s plan was to win it by having the best ideas and the best vision in architecture. The way, frankly, it should be. Rick desperately wished he could ask Mr. Walsh or Dale or Aaron if that sounded like a good plan. But he knew instinctively that communication among them should be as limited as humanly possible. Rick hasn’t made any eye contact with Mr. Walsh in class and he hasn’t returned to the bookstore where he originally met Dale.

Rick looked up from his notes. “Back to page 72 with the pictures of the solar panels,” he whispered to Daryl. Daryl flipped the pages with ease, being nearly as familiar with the book by now as Rick was. Rick read a little, then flipped back a few pages in his notebook. He scribbled down some thoughts under a page that he’d written “Sustainable Architecture” at the top of. He flipped the pages of another book that was on the desk next to Daryl when he felt the feather-gentle brush of Daryl’s toe along his calf, a signal that meant “look”. 

Rick looked into Daryl’s eyes. His lover had gotten incredibly skilled at looking and observing the world around them without it appearing like he was actually seeing or listening. Daryl was a sponge. He had become uber-aware of everything since Rick had started teaching him and encouraging him to grow and think. Rick met Daryl’s eyes, the same deep blue as the heart of the ocean, and he followed his gaze to the front doors of the library. He nodded at Daryl’s observation, as the two familiar figures walked in heading for their usual spot. 

They were here again. They came almost as frequently as Rick and Daryl had been coming. A young Asian man and a slave they’d heard him refer to as Nicholas. After the two walked by, Daryl carefully tapped his hand on the front of his thighs, then adjusted the book and tapped quickly on his stomach. Rick nodded. He saw it clearly this time. Saw what Daryl had written him notes about the other night. Nicholas had the same patterns of bruises that Dale Horvath picked up on in Daryl. All looked like they were done by hand and there were no past scars or current bruises in the areas that caused the most pain. Rick hadn’t noticed before, but he saw now and he kept a careful glance on the two as the master sat in one of the chairs with a book and Nicholas went to all fours. The Asian put his feet up on Nicholas with care and caution, not the thoughtless way Tobin would do it, heavy boots dropping hard onto Eric’s back.

Rick whispered under his breath, “We’ll say something before we go.” He knew it would be risky. Dangerous to imply too much. There’d been so much in the news lately about slave thefts and the north. Talk of slave sympathizers. Things seem to have been ratcheting up. Normally the media buried those kinds of stories, but they’ve been leaking out and it was all making Rick so nervous. He was hopefully so close to being gone. He shouldn’t be taking chances, but he saw himself in this boy. And he didn’t want him and his slave to be found out. He would just be vague, generic. The kid didn’t know Rick. Wouldn’t be able to report him or anything if Rick was reading it wrong. They’d been at the library for a good four hours already and Rick’s brain was fried. And now that he knew he had to say something to this guy, he just wanted to get it done before he chickened out.

Rick closed his books and started packing everything into his bag. He took a random library book from a shelf behind him and nodded at Daryl to follow him. He walked over to the Asian and stood quietly beside the chair, looking up and down the bookshelves next to them.

“People can notice the marks,” Rick murmured softly as he ran a finger along the spines of the books like he was intently looking for something. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Asian look around and then back down at his book. 

“What?” he whispered, thankfully recognizing that the conversation needed to be subversive. 

“The marks are all done personal. By hands not whips. Nothing on the belly or the thighs where it hurts the most. People can notice things like that. Be careful.” Rick pushed a book aside and slid the one he was using as a prop into the opening on the shelf. And he turned and walked away without a glance back. 

The next day they passed the pair leaving the library as Rick and Daryl were walking in. Nicholas had fresh whip marks along his stomach and rope burns around the middle of both thighs. The master was holding the door for Rick as he got to the top of the stairs. “Thank you,” the Asian whispered. And Rick nodded. 

At home that night, Tobin was drinking with several buddies from the job site, all of them complaining about work. Rick knew better then to avoid everyone like he wanted to. The interview was tomorrow. He didn’t have much longer to keep up pretenses and now wasn’t the time to get sloppy, so he joined them all in the living room like he knew his father would want, ordering Daryl between his legs to suck him off. 

Tobin was taking out aggression on Eric in a game Rick had seen before. Eric stood in front of Tobin, holding two very full shot glasses of scotch in each hand. Tobin swung with a paddle aimed to smack across the side of Eric’s cock. His swing was strong and embellished like a professional golfer. Eric remained in place, not a single drop spilled from either glass. “Damnit,” Tobin muttered as he handed the paddle to Len on the couch beside him. Eric walked to face the next hit and Len faked a swing and stopped short. Eric’s body over compensated, anticipating the blow. His right arm shook and a good bit of scotch splashed out onto the floor. 

“Ha!!” Len said. “I win. Just got to be inventive sometimes.” He took the glass that had spilled from Eric and handed it to Tobin. He took the still-full glass for himself and the men tipped their heads to the others in the room and took their shots. 

Joe growled “I got next, man,” as he was palming himself over his jeans in the corner. 

“Patience,” Len said. “Need my reward first. He grabbed Eric’s dick and pulled him to the ground, handling him roughly to put him on all fours. “You can take the kid’s slave if you need something so damned urgently,” he said nodding towards Daryl.

Rick looked up from the newspaper he was glancing at. Daryl was between his legs still sucking his cock. Rick had hoped no one would try to use him since he was actively being used by his owner, but these guys were assholes. And Rick probably should have expected this. 

He tried to look just slightly annoyed. “Whatever, the back end of him is free.” Joe came over with his hard cock already out of his pants and knelt down behind Daryl, immediately attempting to shove his cock in with Daryl unprepared.

“Christ, you fucking animal,” Rick said as he took a bottle of lube that was laying on the end table and threw it at him. “He’s mine. Prep him first. Don’t want him broke for when I want to fuck him.”

Several of the other guys laughed and started talking all at once and Rick tried not to be intimidated by all the testosterone in the room. Tobin was just watching him, taking one sip of scotch after another.

“Where’s all your all’s slaves anyway? Always using ours and not bringing any holes to offer us,” Rick razzed, trying to act like just one of the guys. Trying to bond with his father by calling them “us” like they were together in this injustice. Tobin smiled at Rick’s jab.

“Mine’s working on a gardening project and Joe ain’t got one no more. And those guys,” Len nodded his head to the others, “are just selfish assholes.” The group all laughed as Len fucked Eric, a hand pushing his face into the carpet as he thrust into him.

Rick’s eyes shot over to Joe who had ordered Daryl to prepare himself properly. Daryl continued sucking Rick’s cock while reaching behind him to prepare his hole. Rick knew his lover was aware of how important it was to keep his mouth wrapped tight around him. Rick was completely flaccid and that would look incredibly suspicious. He just couldn’t get it up hearing and seeing the way guys like this acted and with all the stress and worry he had on his shoulders for the interview. His mind was running in circles over the comment about Joe not having his slave anymore.

“Yours stolen, Joe?” Rick asked, trying not to act too interested. Could this be someone like Rick? Someone putting on a show for the guys that maybe made arrangements for his slave to be taken? There had to be others. Rick knew there were. He’d met three already in just the last few weeks. But Joe? Rick would be surprised, but maybe...

“Fuck, I wish. Then there’d be a chance of getting him back. You know how hard it was to train him just right?”

“What happened to him then?” Rick asked as he slid fingers into Daryl’s hair and made it look like he was forcefully fucking his slave’s face instead of just having his hand there so Daryl could be comforted by his touch.

“He fucked him to death,” Tobin said laughing with Len and the others. 

“What?” Rick asked forcing a smile like he was amused even though his insides felt like bringing up everything he’d eaten in the last week. 

Joe was now deep inside Daryl as he spoke. “I hate prep, man. It’s a total hassle. When I need release, I need it.” He turned to the rest of the room as they were mocking him and joking, all talking over one another. “Shut up, assholes. I got fined $500 bucks for taking a slave out of commission. $500 bucks! That is some bullshit right there. And you know what? Bleeding out from his asshole like that? All over my carpet?! Well, after he was dead- there was no one to clean that shit up! And with the fucking fine, I’m looking at another year before I can afford a replacement!”

Len came with a grunt inside Eric and then kicked him away as he sat back on the couch. Eric, by instinct crawled to Tobin on all fours so Tobin could put his feet up.

“You know what’s wrong with this world,” Tobin grumbled with the beginnings of an alcohol-induced slur in his voice. “The government is busy fining innocent men like Joe instead of spending their time trying to find these sons of bitches that are trying to pilfer our property and take it north.”

Joe finished with a grunt, wiping his dick against Daryl’s ass to clean it off before he stood and returned to his seat. 

“You know they’re running checks on southerners now who’s slaves get stolen? Thinking they may have been involved. Bad enough your hole has been stolen, now you gotta open your house and be searched?” Joe said incredulously. 

“Well, they found one,” Tobin said, his tone all serious now. 

“One what?” Rick asked, after faking an orgasm and holding Daryl’s head in place. “Keep it warm,” Rick commanded, not wanting anyone scrutinizing his flaccid, unspent cock. Daryl rested his head on Rick’s thighs, keeping his mouth wrapped tight around him.

“Found a guy who WAS guilty of being involved in sending his own slave north,” Tobin responded, slamming back the rest of the glass of scotch he was working on.

“What?” Rick asked, all acting, all fake shock. “What the hell is the point of that? What do you even do without a slave?”

Tobin seemed pleased with Rick’s line of questioning. “Couldn’t tell ya, son. Guy got fined $500 for taking a slave out of commission. Couldn’t pay it though cause his neighbors torched his house with him in it.” 

“Huh,” Rick said, lost for words. 

Thankfully Len started talking about how his slave is at home currently digging a hole in the back yard for a new tree using only his mouth. And the conversation morphed into complaints about how long it takes slaves to do things sometimes. 

Eventually, Rick put the newspaper down and left with Daryl as the men were starting up the game again with Eric and the paddle. “I have a test tomorrow. Better study,” Rick said by way of excuse. The men barely noticed as Joe took his turn whacking at Eric’s cock.

**********************  
Rick had his notebook open on his lap with all his notes for the interview. It was 18 hours away now and his nerves were starting to feel it. He was ready. He felt confident. He knew his stuff. Knew what he was going to talk about. But he couldn’t help hearing his father’s words ghosting through his thoughts. “If you are up for a job and it’s down to two people and the other other person has a more well-trained slave than you, you will _not_ get that job.” He looked down at Daryl on the floor wiggling his butt and writing a new list of words from picture pages that Rick had picked out for him. 

Rick closed his notebook quietly and just watched Daryl. After he finished each word he would suck on his thumb and look over it, then wiggle his bottom in excitement. Then he’d pop his thumb back out of his mouth and move on to the next word. Suddenly Daryl stopped in mid word and turned back to look at Rick. He smiled, a wide lopsided grin that was so loving and so affectionate Rick couldn’t imagine living a single day without seeing it. His worry over not getting the job suddenly became worry that he would. And that he’d have to leave Daryl alone up north after the summer apprenticeship to come back and finish University.

Daryl got up and sat indian style on the bed and the two just looked at each other for a while, drinking one another in quietly. Finally Daryl pointed to Rick’s forehead. 

“What am I thinking?” Rick asked. And Daryl nodded.

“Just nervous for tomorrow, I guess,” Rick said softly. 

Daryl went back to his spot on the floor and grabbed his writing tablet and pencil. He sat indian style on the bed again and started writing. Rick leaned forward to see his letters but Daryl made his adorable pretend-angry face and turned his shoulder so he could finish writing without Rick seeing. 

When he was done, he showed the paper to Rick. _Do not be scARed. I will be with you._

Rick smiled. “I know you will, beautiful. That makes me happy that you will be there.”

Daryl wrote more and turned the paper around for Rick. _I will be A veRy good boy._

“I know,” Rick said as he petted at Daryl’s hair and then kissed his forehead. “Are you nervous at all?” Rick asked, knowing that Daryl understood he would be scrutinized as well. 

Daryl wrote. _No. MAsteR will tAke cAre of me._

“Might have to hurt you. Humiliate you,” Rick said with a pout. 

_Like mAsteR to do Anything. I Am not scARed. I know why. I know why eveRything. So we cAn be togetheR and fRee._

“Do you know what it means to be free, Daryl?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “What’s it mean?” Rick asked, curious about how exactly Daryl perceived freedom. Daryl put his pencil to the paper and frowned, either at a loss of words or realizing that maybe he didn’t fully understand it. Minutes ticked by and Daryl chewed on his lower lip thinking.

“It means that no one will own you. You can do whatever you want anytime. You can have bacon whenever you want bacon and you-”

Daryl started scribbling and Rick waiting until he was finished. _No. MAsteR owns me AlwAys._ Daryl frowned hard.

“No. You will call me Rick not master. Like I know you were trying to with your voice the other night. And I will love you always. Every day. Love is not the same as own. I will kiss you and touch you every day but only if you want me to. You will be able to decide everything. You can wear clothes like I do and you-”

Daryl started snickering. “You can,” Rick insisted with a laugh. “Here.” Rick pulled his shirt over his head and handed it to Daryl. 

Daryl took it and frowned. “Go ahead, try it on.”

Daryl fumbled with it and ended up with it inside out, an arm through the neck hole and whimpering because his head wasn't fitting through the sleeve. Rick laughed and helped him take it off and put it back on right. He looked adorable sitting on Rick's bed, his hair all mussed up wearing Rick's shirt and no pants, pouting.

Daryl kept tugging at the material and making his angry face. Rick helped him out of the shirt and tossed it in the floor as Daryl snatched up his paper and pencil and scribbled. 

_DARyl does not like clothes._

Rick giggled. “Well, when you're free, if I want you to wear clothes and you don't want to, you won't have to. You won't ever have to lick a kitchen floor again. No one will touch you unless it's someone you want to touch you. I want to give you that. I want to show you a new world, Daryl.”


	11. Chapter 11

Rick was nervous. He could feel sweat dripping down his neck as he waited in traffic to pick up Daryl for the interview. Of course there’d be traffic on the one day in his entire 18 years of life that he absolutely had to be somewhere on time. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. His head was crammed full of statistics and examples and names and dates. And it wasn’t until he saw a businessman and his incredibly marked up slave crossing the street in front of his car that he remembered what he’d completely forgotten. All the prep he’d been doing all week had been so focused on architecture that he’d completely forgotten to do a session or two with Daryl to make sure he looked like he was properly owned and used according to southern standards. 

Traffic started moving and Rick bit at a nail. He couldn’t even remember the last time he whipped Daryl. Was it the week prior? Longer? He tried to remember the surfaces of Daryl’s body from that morning, but all he could picture were Daryl’s eyes. Always looking at him. His soft lips curved up into his lopsided grin. The sound of his laugh. Rick had learned to look past all the scars and bruises. He simply didn’t see them anymore. He just saw Daryl. Rick glanced at the clock on his dash. He had forty-five minutes to get home, grab Daryl and get downtown. It would be enough time, barely. And it wouldn’t leave any time for a session. 

Rick felt like a complete failure. How could he have forgotten something so critical. Mr. Walsh would be so disappointed. Would Dale even bother trying to help with another plan? He wracked his brain as he inched toward home with ideas of how to highlight humiliation or psychological control over Daryl since the absence of physical control would be so lacking. He had no doubt that Daryl would do anything for him. His complete obedience and supplication to Rick should be enough to overshadow the lack of bruises and burns. He had a way of obeying anything and being happy to be allowed to do so. No other slave emitted that kind of dedication. Rick felt certain it would show. He hoped he wasn't being naive about that. By the time Rick pulled up to the house, he had 30 minutes to get to the office. Just barely enough time.

Rick threw open the door and called for Daryl, hoping he'd have had the mind to be waiting near the door instead of bent over in Rick's bedroom. Before Rick finished the second syllable of his name, Daryl appeared at the top of the steps. His eyes were downcast and his body was a canvas of purples and blues. There were whip marks down his thighs and legs, his nipples were erect and enlarged from clamps that must have been on and tugged at for hours. There were rope burns on his ankles and around his neck.

“Daryl,” Rick whispered. “Did...was my father home?”

He shook his head no. Rick was frozen in place.

“Did you do this to yourself...because I forgot?” Rick whispered.

Daryl nodded in the affirmative and walked down the stairs. Rick put his hands gently on Daryl's arms, his heart absolutely shattered. Thoughts of Daryl alone in the house, whipping himself, bruising himself. Jesus. Rick needed to get them north. Daryl pointed at Rick's watch and tugged him by the waistband of his pants towards the door. He made eye contact with Rick and smiled his crooked little smile like all was right with the world because his eyes were filled with Rick. 

He petted Rick on the head to comfort him, in that way he had. Patting a little to hard and awkwardly, but with so much sincerity that it did calm Rick down. The irony that Daryl, beaten black and blue by his own hands, was the one doing the comforting was not lost on Rick. He would spend the rest of his life trying to care for Daryl. To give him whatever he wanted for the rest of forever. And getting out the door this second was the first step to being able to change their lives.

When they arrived, Rick and Daryl were shown to a waiting room. They were there just long enough for Rick to instruct Daryl to bow down in front of him with his forehead on the floor between Rick's feet, before a tall lanky man with an eyepatch walked into the room with a hand extended. 

“Phillip Blake,” he said, by way of introduction and Rick jumped up enthusiastically to grab his outstretched hand. 

“Rick Grimes. Nice to meet you, sir.”

Daryl remained still, forehead to the ground and ass in the air.

“Why don't you situate your slave however you want to leave him, and let's just have you for the first interview.”

Rick processed everything as quickly as he could. No slave in the first interview? Good, right? Or bad? Is this part a test? But the overwhelming thought that overshadowed everything else was leaving Daryl. He looked down at his lover’s beaten body and saw how dedicated he was to the charade. This was all for him. Rick couldn't shirk on this. He had to be just as dedicated. Just as strong as Daryl was.

He took a sharpie out of his shirt pocket and wrote “Free hole. Please fuck.” On Daryl’s lower back. 

“Hold your ass apart with your hands and do not move. Take what you're given. We’re guests here,” Rick said in a dead tone that he hoped sounded ambivalent enough. Daryl did as he was told and Rick squeezed his eyes shut to it before he opened them confidently and turned back to Mr. Philip Blake.

Phillip nodded, smiling and led Rick down a long intimidating hallway.

The interview went on for a solid hour. All three men seemed interested in everything Rick said. He talked about what he knew about their firm, which was everything thanks to his two weeks of exhaustive research. He answered questions about the biggest mistakes in architecture, the most important discoveries and the best ideas for paving the way to the future. 

Rick talked excitedly about his interest in self-sustaining architecture and the benefits and long-term, cost effectiveness of solar panels. Reg Monroe was by far the most engaged, with Phillip asking almost as many questions. Pete Anderson remained quiet most of the time. He wore a sneer that was probably there more often than not. Rick tried not to play guessing games on who was the inside man. He spoke to all three, making eye contact with each. 

By the end, Rick felt good. Really good. He tried to read their expressions and there was definite satisfaction in their looks.

“We expect to have it narrowed down to a final two this week. You'll hear from us,” Reg said. And Rick wasn't sure, but Reg may have winked as he said his goodbye.

Phillip pointed Rick down the right hallway to collect his belongings and the trio ducked back behind closed doors, most likely to debrief from Rick's interview.

When Rick got back to the waiting room, Daryl was right where he'd been left. His back was covered with come and he had more leaking out of his ass. A receptionist glanced up from his work station. “You mind having him clean up the floor before y’all leave? Mine’s cleaning the bathroom at the moment.

Rick smiled and nodded. “No problem. Happy to help”. And Daryl was already licking the come that had splattered to the floor before Rick even had to say a word.

Once in the car, Daryl looked over and tapped at Rick's shoulder. He lifted a brow in question. Nothing in his eyes spoke of hurt, not from his self-inflicted bruises or from his humiliation, still tacky with come from God knows how many people.

Rick tried not to ruin Daryl's excitement. He smiled.

“You want to know how it went?” Rick asked. Daryl smiled back and nodded excitedly.

Rick tried to focus on the road. “Went really good, Daryl.” Rick could hear the confidence in his own voice. “Real good. And you were perfect, beautiful. You did such a good job for me.” He glanced back at Daryl. “Taking care of this,” Rick said quietly as he ran fingers over a whip mark on Daryl's thigh. “And so good waiting for me.”

Daryl smiled proudly. 

“Let's go out for dinner. To celebrate the first step, ok?”

Daryl nodded and then rested his head against the seat so he faced Rick. Rick could feel Daryl drinking him up. He couldn't imagine what Daryl saw in him that made him give Rick his love. Love couldn't be commanded or demanded. No one can take that from another person. It had to be given. Had to be earned. And Daryl gave it to Rick easily and happily.

Rick drove through a McDonald’s and ordered a Bacon Cheesebuger, fries and a milkshake. He cracked up as Daryl started bouncing at the word bacon. Then he drove to a lake he once went to as a boy. The sky was slightly darkened by moody clouds and the sun was just starting to set. Rick walked them to a spot hidden by pines, no other cars were in sight, no people, not even a pole light or a boat dock. 

The sounds of toads and evening crickets were like a lullaby. Peaceful. Relaxing. Comforting. Rick took off his jacket and laid it down, guiding Daryl to sit on it so he wouldn't have to touch the dirt with his still-tacky skin. Daryl watched Rick open the burger and pull a strip of the bacon out. He got to his knees and wiggled as Rick held it out and Daryl took it from Rick's fingers with his mouth. 

“I won't give you too much so you won't get sick,” Rick said as he pulled a fry out and fed it to Daryl. They ate quietly and looked at the stars, distracted at one point by a baby toad that landed on Daryl's foot, sending him into giggles as he petted it with a heavy finger before it hopped away. 

Daryl ate small helpings of the chocolate shake as Rick scooped some onto his finger and fed it to him.

“What did you like best? The fries, the milkshake or the bacon?” Rick asked, always wanting to catalogue Daryl's preferences. Daryl held up three fingers for bacon and Rick laughed. “Still haven't found anything to beat that.”

Daryl looked Rick up and down and then reached out a hand and ran a finger over Rick’s full lips. Rick scooted closer, wrapped Daryl in his arms, careful of the bruises, and kissed him slow and soft and careful. His hands dropped to his lover's back and he felt the tackiness of dried come still on him.

“Let's clean you off, huh? In the water.” Rick stood and walked to the edge of the lake and splashed at it with his hand. “It's not too cold.”

Daryl stood and walked over with a frown. “Are you scared of the lake? You don't have to go in if-”

Daryl shook his head vehemently. He loved to do what his master wanted. Rick knew this. Daryl put a foot into the water and moved his other leg slowly to join the first. Rick knew him well enough to know he wasn't thrilled about getting in.

“I'll go in with you. It's less scary that way,” Rick said as he started peeling off clothes. Once he was naked, he took Daryl's hand and led him into the water until they were chest deep. Daryl did not take his eyes off Rick for a second. Rick put his arms around his timid lover and scrubbed against his back and his ass, trying to wipe everyone else off him so he was just Rick's again. Daryl leaned into his touch and slipped, splashing against the water for a moment before Rick could get a hold of him. 

“You’re ok. I got you,” Rick said as he held Daryl tight under the moonlight, the sound of their slow movements against the water and the symphony of night in the forest surrounding them like a cocoon. They kissed right out in the world. Under the sky. In the fresh air. Naked body pressed tight against naked body and Daryl slowly wrapped his legs around Rick in the buoyancy of the lake, writhing and rocking until he’d fucked himself down onto Rick's hard cock. Water splashed against them as they kissed, as they rocked gently together and when they came, at the exact same moment, it was like the chirps and croaks and the sounds of the wind in the trees all silenced and the night was filled with nothing but two soft cries followed by heavy, sated breaths.

****************  
When they were back home, Rick brought a notepad and pen to bed with the Good Night Moon book. He handed it to Daryl.

“I want to know what you are most excited about. What will be your favorite thing about being free?” Rick ran his fingertips along a sliver of Daryl's side that was unmarked as his lover thought. Finally Daryl scribbled.

_MAsteR will be hAppy when we ARe FRee._

Not food. Not freedom from hurt. Not free will. Not books. Not comfort. Daryl just wanted Rick to be happy. Rick. The one of them that was not beaten, not fucked, not pissed on, not humiliated. Rick took the paper and pen and tucked it under the bed and Daryl opened his book. Rick tried to steady his voice. “Is it ok if we just look at the pictures tonight?” Rick asked, hiccuping on choked back tears. 

Daryl looked at Rick and wiped at the wetness in his eyes with his fingers. Daryl hadn't completely mastered gentle yet and his finger in Rick's eyeball nearly made it tear up more, but Rick felt the comfort that was intended in his touch and he leaned into Daryl, hoping to gain some of his strength just by breathing the same air.

Daryl put the book away without flipping through the pages and he pulled Rick's head down to rest on his broad chest. Daryl ran his thumb along Rick's lips and Rick opened to accept his offer. As Rick sucked on one thumb, Daryl slipped the other into his own mouth and Rick fell asleep to his soft sucking sounds, wrapped tight against Daryl, with fading memories of moonlight and toads and the sound of Daryl's laugh.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd

It had been two days since the interview and Rick hadn't heard a word. He walked into the public library to kill time peacefully with Daryl and stopped short when he noticed Nicholas and his master were sitting at the tables and not in their normal spot by the over-sized chairs. They were very purposefully right next to the seat where Rick and Daryl usually worked. Nicholas was below the table. Rick couldn't see if he was servicing his master or just in a waiting position before him, but he guessed the latter. The Asian glanced up and moved some books out of the way so Rick would have room in his regular spot.

Rick and Daryl approached it cautiously and sat in their normal positions, Rick in a chair and Daryl on the table holding open a book. The master seemed to be reading a newspaper intently, but after thirty minutes passed, he hadn't turned a single page. Rick was reading one of his novels since he didn't need to cram for the interview. He glanced at Daryl every time he was ready for a page turn, and Daryl turned it obediently.

“Glenn,” the man said quietly and out of nowhere. Rick shot him a brief glance.

“Rick.”

“Are you the kind of person who can help us, Rick?” Glenn asked casually, his eyes still on the paper.

“Help you with what?”

Glenn finally turned a page of the paper and looked up to smile at one of the librarian’s walking by with a cart full of returned books. Once he passed, Glenn leaned forward and lowered his voice again.

“You knew how to spot someone like me. You either know more about the resistance or you're a spy for those vigilante groups popping up all over the south,” he said quietly peeking out from under his ball cap.

“If you aren't sure, you're taking a pretty big risk.”

Glenn shrugged. “Been watching you. With him,” he said as he shot his glance over to Daryl. “You’re on the right side of things. ‘Sides, if you weren't, you'd have followed me home and burned my house down by now.”

Rick rubbed a thumb gently over Daryl’s thigh in case he was getting nervous at the bold and very risky conversation. “I don’t even know how to help _us_ ,” Rick said. The interview was not a sure thing. Rick trusted this guy. The sound of his voice, his body language, the careful way he treats his slave. But he can’t go handing out business cards. He knew Dale, Aaron and Mr. Walsh were uber-secretive and for a reason. Hell, Mr. Walsh watched Rick for almost two years before making an approach. “I’ll let you know if I ever find anything out,” Rick said.

Glenn nodded and turned a page of the newspaper again. “Thinking about ending it. For both of us,” he said looking down at Nicholas below him. “You ever think about that?”

Rick’s jaw dropped and he looked around the library to see if anyone else heard what he just did. “Jesus, Glenn.”

“We’re all slaves, Rick. All of us. Slaves to societal expectations. They expect us to just live and take this. Expect Nicholas to take what I give him. Expect me to take what society tells me is socially acceptable. It’s not acceptable to me. I’ve only had him four weeks, Rick. I can’t keep doing it.” 

“Give me some time,” Rick finally said at the same moment that his cell phone chirped with a text. He pulled it out of his pocket and read.

 _You made the final two. Can you come back for a second interview tomorrow at 4?_

Rick’s heart hammered against his chest as he slipped the cell back into his pocket. He looked at Glenn and tilted his head trying to convey how important his words would be.

“Give me a week. You don’t sound the type to give up. You sound the type to fight. Give me a week.”

Glenn nodded. “I _am_ the type to fight but I can’t do it alone.”

Rick tapped Daryl on the ass to get him up and he put his books in his bag. “One week,” Rick said firmly. He’d figure out a way to approach Mr. Walsh. Maybe fail an assignment on purpose to be kept after class. He’d figure something out.

Once they were in the car, Rick let himself react to the text. “It’s narrowed down to two, Daryl. We go back tomorrow for a second interview.” It didn’t feel real until he shared it with Daryl.

************************

That night Daryl laid on the floor writing words while Rick sat in bed flipping through an architecture textbook without really reading it. Instead he just watched Daryl. The sight of him gave Rick hope and strength. Daryl trusted him and believed in him when Rick couldn't even believe in himself. He desperately wanted to be what Daryl saw in him.

Daryl stood and sat on the edge of the bed, handing his paper to Rick. Rick hadn't even instructed him to do anything when they settled in for the night. Daryl got his books and papers himself and set to work. Rick loved how independent Daryl had become. He looked down at the paper and read.

_Nikols cAn be my fRiend when we ARe fRee. Nikols spell Right?_

Rick took the paper and wrote _Nicholas_.

Daryl frowned and fisted his hand, but he didn't punch his thighs like he used to when he made mistakes. He took his pencil and wrote the name over and over while he sat indian style on the bed with Rick. 

Once the textbooks and papers and pencils were put away, and after Rick read Good Night Moon, twice, Daryl made the first move. He crawled very boldly over Rick, kissed him, pressed his body against him. He reached for the lube on his own and readied himself without a single word from Rick. Rick just watched, arms behind his head, a smile on his face. And he felt that feeling he sometimes had where he was glad Daryl belonged to him. He was happy to own him, relieved that Daryl had no other choices. Because why would he have ever picked Rick otherwise? Rick wasn’t strong. Wasn’t anything they’d be looking for in this second interview. Wasn’t able to give Daryl anything better all this time. But at the same time, Rick knew that Daryl didn’t give willing to Rick because he had to. He gave because he wanted to. 

Rick was hard and ready by the time Daryl moved above him, lining Rick up against his hole and sinking onto him. Rick groaned at the sight of Daryl, strong and eager above him, fucking himself down on Rick’s cock, taking what he wanted from Rick and it was such an incredible turn on. 

Daryl looked into Rick’s eyes the whole time, so filled with passion and loyalty and trust and love. He moaned quietly as he moved and Rick slid his hands down to caress Daryl’s legs as he pumped himself up and down Rick’s shaft. Daryl’s moans turned to whimpers and Rick reached up to wrap a hand around Daryl’s cock, but Daryl grabbed his hand and then grabbed the other hand and held onto Rick tightly as he rode his master. Rick was about to explode. Daryl being so aggressive, so sweet and so fucking sexy at the same time. The way he moved on Rick? The way he looked into Rick’s eyes like he was giving his master every single thing he had? He was Rick’s. He was Rick’s. 

Daryl squeezed Rick’s hands so tight they hurt and Rick loved the feel of himself being crushed under Daryl like that. Loved seeing Daryl above him, taking. His orgasm coiled around his insides and pulsed like lightening between his thighs. “Daryl, come with me,” Rick said and he felt himself emptying, felt the waves of pleasure shoot through his cock. And Daryl obeyed. Untouched. Just as Rick commanded him too. Ribbons of white warmed Rick’s stomach as the two men stilled and gasped for breath. Daryl pulled off slowly and went to his hands and knees to lick himself off Rick.

“You are so beautiful. So strong and so confident and I love you so much Daryl. I’ll get the job tomorrow. I promise you.” 

******************

This time when Philip came for Rick, he was instructed to bring Daryl into the interview room. He hadn’t added any further marks since his interview three days prior, since the marks Daryl put there himself. But Rick thought it was ok. He didn’t want it to look like he was trying _too_ hard. Rick sat in the same chair as last time and commanded “Down” to Daryl. Daryl knelt down, ass raised and forehead to the floor. 

The questions were fairly repetitive. The men asked Rick to be more specific in some of his answers from earlier in the week. He could easily speak to every question they asked but a half-hour in he started to worry that he should be doing something to Daryl. Wasn’t that what this was? Down to two and whoever showed more command over their slave would get the job? He should be showing some kind of power. That’s what they would be looking for. He tried to glance down casually at Daryl. So much of him was already bruised and marked and scarred. There just didn’t seem to be anything else Rick could do. How would he convince them he was strong enough to make a good asset to the company? 

“I have one last question,” Reg Monroe asked. “Solar panels are expensive. How would you justify that expense?” That’s when Rick had his epiphany. A true show of power. Control. Command. 

Rick stood and paced the floor as he spoke. “You have to play the long game. It’s an investment at the onset, sure. But you never know when resources might fall short. So it’s not just a matter of investing in the panels and waiting ten years til they start paying for themselves, it’s the ability to be self-sufficient. That’s real power.” 

Rick picked up the glass on the table beside him and drank the rest of the water he’d been sipping on since he walked in. He reached down and fisted into Daryl’s hair and pulled him up til he was kneeling, his cock bouncing hard below him. 

Rick squatted in front of Daryl and pressed one finger down on his cock to aim it better. “Look at me,” he commanded and Daryl did. His eyes were filled with utter dedication. Rick had no doubt that Daryl would slit his own throat if that’s what Rick asked of him. He would run a hundred miles without stopping. He’d stand on hot coals, feet bare and burning and he’d be happy to do it. Rick knew this beyond a doubt. 

“Come for me. Now.” Rick commanded and Daryl sucked in a breath and held Rick’s steady gaze. His blue eyes disappearing, replaced by wide dark pupils and as he exhaled, a strong stream of come shot into the empty cup Rick held in front of his cock. 

“Good boy,” Rick praised and he handed the short, wide cup to Daryl. “Drink.” And Daryl obeyed, licking at the insides of the cup to make sure he could get every drop of himself possible. Rick stood and turned. 

“Self-sustaining. Like this. Don’t have to feed him as much if he can feed himself. Why let the sun shine and not utilize it? Why let this slave stay backed up for a week at a time while you are paying a premium for his food. We need to take advantage of our resources on this planet. You command him to come each day, there’s one meal. Free. You have the sun shining strong six, seven hours a day? You take advantage. You take control.”

Rick sat back down in his seat and waited for a follow-up question. The three men looked at each other with expressions that Rick couldn’t read. Finally Pete took a deep breath. “Well, can’t say that we’ve ever seen anything like that before. Kinda ballsy, kid. Allowing him something pleasurable instead of controlling him physically.” Pete looked Daryl up and down. “I mean, looks like you do that plenty. But to control _that_? That’s some serious psychological and biological control. More than just a beating can get you. Must have been a lot of work dehumanizing and humiliating him to get his mind to submit like that. I _am_ impressed, young man. I can assure you, none of our three slaves would be able to do that on command,” he said as he waved over to the waiting slaves along the wall, all in intricate waiting poses, one bound and gagged with nipple clamps.

“I can start the second school’s out,” Rick said confidently. 

********************

Rick got the call before he and Daryl even got home. He pulled over to answer the phone, Daryl literally bouncing in his seat as he watched Rick’s face trying to read his expression. Reg had informed him of good news and bad. The good news was that he got the job. But the “bad” news, according to Reg, was that there was a change of plans and the apprenticeship would take place in a small town in New York state, exactly as Mr. Walsh had said. After Rick convinced Reg that staying at the hostile they had available for employees wouldn’t be a problem, he hung up and they headed for home. 

Rick talked excitedly about how to celebrate. That they would go to the bookstore for a boatload of new books. How they’d go back to the lake in a few days when the moon was bright again. Rick was so excited he didn’t even register Tobin’s car in the driveway. They walked in the house, Rick still giddy with excitement. Daryl followed him obediently to their bedroom and they walked in to find Tobin standing by the nightstand with a crumbled piece of paper in his hand. And Rick knew instantly what it was. Daryl’s first sentences that Rick had carelessly left in a special place so he’d never lose it. 

_MAsteR is pRetty._  
I like BAcon.  
Books ouR fun. 

“What in the fuck is this?” Tobin growled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot is hard! Hope this didn't get boring, mates. 
> 
> (also- my sincere apologies for the cliff hanger! Don't worry- I am already working on the next chapter!)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd

It was like time had stopped. The air had been sucked out of the room and the ten seconds they stood and stared at each other felt like a century. Tobin's hard glare spoke of end and finality, the closing of a book before it’s story ended, and Rick knew one of them would draw their last breath in this room. There was no other way for it to go.

Rick moved to stand more firmly in front of Daryl. “What are you doing home so early?” He asked, probably the most pointless, monumentally stupid question that he’s ever heard coming from his own mouth.

“Whole crew got laid off,” Tobin answered in a low growl. “Hoping you'd be able to pitch in some and get a damn job, but looks like you've been busy lately.”

Rick felt Daryl’s gentle hand timid on his back, supporting him. Giving him strength. Rick had no way to respond. He could see in the blackness of Tobin’s eyes that no words could help him. His fate had already been sealed.

The rest was a blur. Rick remembered moving towards Tobin, filled with rage when his father began ripping up Daryl's note into dozens of pieces and tossing them in the air like confetti.

“You're bringing shame on this house and I got enough problems. Ain’t raisin’ a traitor, an ungrateful son thinks he's better than me, thinks a slave is a human, more worried about teaching a useless hole to read than worried about his daddy’s house getting burned to the ground because of it.” Tobin was screaming, angrier than Rick had ever seen him.

He doesn't remember moving, but he must have, because suddenly he was by the bed, scraps of Daryl's note in his weak hands as he struggled to breath. Tobin hovered over him, reeking of alcohol, his hands tight on Rick's throat. Squeezing. Pressing. Words raining down on him that he couldn't quite put in any logical order. Tobin's spital landing on his nose and eyelashes as he ranted and raged. Rick's vision narrowed, black closing in from all sides. He was dying. It had truly come to this. And Tobin’s words filled his entire world, “useless”, “worthless”, “weak”, “die”.

Rick gasped for breath, his windpipe almost completely shut and burning like fire as Tobin's thick heavy hands squeezed the life out of his own son. Rick took a desperate, struggled breath and forced out last words as loud as he could. “Daryl, run. Antiques.” He coughed and gagged between each word as he tried to push back against Tobin. It was hopeless. He twisted his head frantically hoping to get one last look of his beautiful Daryl before everything went black, but he was already gone. Hopefully on the way to Dale’s. To safety and freedom. 

Rick's vision narrowed and narrowed until there was only a sliver of light, a litany of cursing from Tobin and the rattle of chains as they appeared out of nowhere and fell, cold against his throat. And then he was gone.

*****************

The sobbing was far away. Through a tunnel a million miles long, but Rick knew the sound and he had to find it. He tried to move, tried to open his eyes and he suddenly felt a searing pain in his lungs and around this throat. He opened his eyes just as he registered the feel of warmth surrounding him like a blanket, a clumsy hand petting against his head.

Rick finally became fully aware and he scrambled up and looked back at Daryl who’d been holding him tight on the bed. 

His face was contorted in sorrow, tear stains, snot, and swollen red eyes, one of them black and blue with blood dripping from a wound somewhere on his skull. His thumb was firmly in his mouth and his other hand started beating into his thigh.

“Are you ok?” Rick asked, his voice barely a croak. He carefully ran fingers through Daryl’s mop of hair to check his injury. With a ragged, scratchy voice Rick asked, “Where is he? He could be burning the whole fucking hou-” 

Daryl shook his head and pointed, still shaking and sniffing back sobs. Rick followed Daryl’s finger over the bed and he saw Tobin on the floor, chains from the playroom around his neck, squeezed tight. His neck was twisted in an unnatural position and his chest was motionless. 

“Jesus Christ,” Rick rasped. He looked back to Daryl who was much calmer now that Rick was clearly fine. He moved into indian style position, still sucking his thumb, waiting for Rick to tell him what to do next. “Jesus Christ.” 

Rick stood and paced, his mind flashing from one thought to the next. Daryl killed his father. Saved Rick’s live. They couldn’t stay here, neither of them. There could be no job. No safe passage north under the guise of an apprenticeship. They would be found out. There was no way to cover this up. They had to get to the Antique store and they both needed to disappear forever. This was an emergency if ever there was one. 

Rick reached for Daryl and pulled him up off the bed and hugged him tight. “I’m so sorry you had to do that, beautiful. But you saved my life.” Rick kissed him gently and looked him in the eyes, brushing away his messy hair so he could see his precious face. “Now we need to leave.”

Rick smelled the aroma of pork chops in the air and suddenly remembered Eric. He went to his closet, got out a suitcase and tossed it on the bed. “Pack my clothes. As much as you can fit in here and all your books and papers. I’ll be right back.” Daryl moved obediently. Rick was sure he needed comfort and attention but he knew Daryl understood that now was not the time. 

Rick walked quickly to the kitchen and watched Eric obliviously preparing the meal that was posted on the fridge. Rick approached him slowly, reached over him and turned off the burner. Eric lowered to the ground, head on the floor and held his ass cheeks wide apart, prepared for what he assumed was wanted. Rick knelt beside him. “No, Eric. You don’t need to be down here. Dinner is canceled. You need to follow me.”

Rick walked back to the bedroom with Eric following behind him as instructed. Daryl was pressing down the suitcase and zipping it as they walked in. Rick took Eric by the hand and brought him around the bed to Tobin’s body. 

“Eric,” Rick said slowly, as Daryl stopped to watch them. “Tobin is dead now. That means you belong to me, ok?”

Eric nodded. “We’re going for a ride. I need you to go get in the back seat of my car and wait for us ok?” Eric remained expressionless as always. He turned as instructed and left the room. Rick knew for a fact he would be sitting obediently in the car waiting on them. There was an overwhelming sadness in Daryl’s eyes that Rick had never seen before. And despite the urgency of the situation they found themselves in, Rick had to take a moment to connect with his lover. He unzipped the suitcase and pulled out one of Daryl’s writing tablets and a pencil and handed it to him. 

“I need you to talk to me, Daryl. I want to understand what you’re thinking and I want to know that you’re ok. Do you have any questions, beautiful?”

Daryl bit his lip and lowered his gaze from Rick to Tobin, then he sat on the edge of the bed and used the suitcase to write on. 

_He wAs meAn._

“Yes. He was. He was a bad guy. You saved me, Daryl. Thank you for saving me.”

 _Will you stAy with me when I die? Will you hold my hAnd?_

Rick furrowed his brows. “What are you talking about?”

A tear escaped Daryl’s eye and it ran down his cheek to his chin. 

_SlAves ARe not Allowed to kill. DARyl will get killed. It is the lAw. I Am sAd to leAve you, mAsteR. I Am soRRy I hAve to be killed. I love you._

Rick was angry. A fire had been burning in his belly since Tobin ripped up Daryl’s note and now, it was the like the red hot embers caught on dry leaves and ignited an entire forest inside him. How dare this fucking world make Daryl like this. Make him ready to willingly walk into a firing squad because he was bred to obey. Make him think that Rick was packing up to march Daryl to his death. 

“Fuck the law, Daryl. I will never let you die. I told you we were going to be free and that’s exactly what we are going to do. I love you and I will protect you with my last dying breath.” Rick took the paper with Daryl’s dark words and he ripped them up and shoved them back in the suitcase. He pulled Daryl close and kissed him passionately but quickly. When they parted, Daryl ran his fingers over the bruised hand prints along Rick’s clavicle and looked back to Rick.

“It’s ok. I can be strong like you. I can take it. Shit, I deserve it. I should have fucking done this ages ago,” he said, motioning to Tobin’s pale body. “The fact that I let these things happen to you for, christ… how long’s it been? Going on a year? It isn’t right. I’ve been weak and scared and mindless and that’s over now. Now we fight. Will you teach me to be strong like you?” Rick asked.

Daryl grabbed onto Rick’s biceps and pulled him back for another kiss. A soft, gentle brush of lips, but Daryl’s hands dug deep and gripped hard and tight onto Rick and the pain circled down Rick’s torso and swirled around his core. He breathed slow into the pain, feeling the cleanse of it, the thrill of taking it and controlling it, the delirious feeling of Daryl putting his fingerprints so firmly into Rick’s skin like a claim mark. And the pain felt like quenching thirst.

Moments later they were in the car, suitcase in the back next to Eric and Daryl in the passenger seat, tears dried and a determined look on his face. As they drove, Rick pulled out his cell and called the Antique Shop. 

“Dale Horvath, Antiques. How can I help you?”

“Mr. Horvath. This is Rick. I’m-”

“Congratulations are in order son, but we usually try to keep communication to a minim-”

“Things have changed. I need your help now. We’re on our way,” Rick said, aware of the coarseness in his tone from the damaged vocal chords. 

“The door will be open,” Dale said quickly and the phone went dead. Ten minutes later they arrived and parked along the street. The sidewalks were filled with bar-hoppers and laundromat patrons. Rick got out, grabbed his suitcase and then opened the door for Eric and commanded him to follow. Daryl was already at the Antique Dealer’s door, his hand on the knob, just waiting for Rick’s nod to open it. 

They walked in and shut the door behind them, welcomed into the warm room that already smelled of fresh coffee. 

Daryl came out first with Aaron close behind him. “What’s happened?” the older man asked, getting straight to the point. 

“My father. He… he found some of Daryl’s notes and he tried to kill me.” Rick pulled his shirt off so the men could see the bruises around his throat and understand the severity. “He’s dead now. The authorities will figure out what happened. We have to get north now. Have to disappear. I don’t have any money, but if you can just get us past the New York state line, we can fend for ourselves. I can hunt, we can get a tent or something and-”

“Take a breath son,” Dale said, always calm. Always steady. “Sit.”

Rick sat and Daryl sat between his legs, his head nuzzling against Rick’s cock and his thumb in his mouth. Rick looked up at Eric. “Eric, down.” The slave went to his knees, head to the ground and ass cheeks pulled apart. Rick shook his head. “This is my father’s slave. He doesn’t…. he’s not like Daryl.”

Aaron had disappeared and came back with neosporin and he tended to the bloody wound on Daryl’s head from the scuffle with Tobin that Rick had completely missed from being unconscious. Then Aaron moved to Eric and he lifted his head up and moved his hands to his sides so that Eric was simply kneeling. “You don’t need to do that anymore, Eric.” Aaron said softly.

By the time Rick had glanced back at Dale he was on the phone. “I need a house done,” Dale had said quietly. He looked at Rick “Address?” he whispered and Rick gave it, Dale repeating it word for word on the phone. The back door opened and Rick jumped to his feet. Aaron was already here on the floor tending to some of Eric’s old wounds. Who the fuck was waltzing in here? 

Mr. Walsh walked in quickly, already out of breath. “I got here as soon as I could. What happened?”

Dale hung up the phone. “I just put in a call to our fire guy. We’re burning down the house.”

“Easy, Dale. All I know is there was a problem with Rick.” Shane turned to Rick, “Why we burning your house down, kid?”

“His father found out what he’d been doing with Daryl and Rick had to kill him,” Dale answered as he started dialing another number. 

Daryl pulled away from Rick’s legs and pounded a fist on the table “Nnnnnn!!!!” 

Everyone stopped to watch him and Aaron grabbed a pen and paper and slid them over to the distraught slave. Daryl grabbed them and wrote hard on the paper.

 _MAsteR is good. MAsteR did not kill. DARyl killed. PleAse don’t huRt mAsteR. HuRt DARyl._ Aaron stood over him and read as Daryl wrote. 

Mr. Walsh whispered, “Holy fucking shit. You taught him to mother fucking WRITE?”

Aaron petted at Daryl’s hair. “No one’s getting hurt, Daryl. We are your friends, remember?” He held up a fist and then took Daryl’s hand, made it a fist and taught Daryl a fist bump. “We’re friends” he repeated.

Dale hung up the phone before pressing send on his next call. “A slave killed a master? I have no words.” Everyone was silent for a moment. Each man looking from one to the next. Silent conversations taking place around Rick. He knew wordless decisions were being made just with glances. 

Finally Dale dialed the cell again. “Put Jesus on,” he barked into the phone. After a moment, Dale spoke, “I have three coming. Tonight.”

Pause.

“Two and a master.” 

Pause.

“Circumstances do not allow us that option. I need a safe house for them. The master can be an asset to the resistance. He has a skill set that we may want to tap into,” Dale said as he walked into the kitchen. 

Rick cocked his head in confusion and looked up to Mr. Walsh. Daryl had wrapped himself around Rick’s leg, thumb in his mouth as Rick stroked fingers through his tangles of hair. 

“I don’t have my degree yet. I won’t be certified to help design new safe houses. I’d have to find a new school and I won’t have money-”

“Mr. Grimes. Your world has changed. You’re going to need to make some adjustments to your life plans.” 

Rick nodded. “Yeah. I...I guess so. Ok. As long as I can be with Daryl, I’ll do whatever you guys need.” 

Dale hung up the phone as he returned to the living room. “Ready now. Rick’s place will go up in ten minutes. Safe house on Alexandria Boulevard will take them tonight. Aaron, you need to get out of here now.” 

Aaron grabbed the suitcase and encouraged Eric to get his feet with a hand gently tugging on his arm. 

“I’ll get the car ready,” Aaron said. “Rick, give Shane the keys to your car. He can made it disappear.” Rick reached into his pocket and handed it over. 

“Wallet too,” Shane said. And Rick complied without even questioning it. 

Shane opened the wallet and flipped through it. “Rick Grimes- you are invisible now. You too Daryl. In about 950 miles you’ll be free. You’ll both be free.”

Shane and Dale walked them out to Aaron’s SUV as the sound of fire engines filled the air, stark against the stillness in the quiet back alley. 

“You need to hurry,” Dale said as Rick helped Daryl get into the back next to Eric. 

“Shane, get that car of his gone,” Dale whispered loudly. 

As Aaron started the engine, Rick shouted, “Mr. Walsh! Wait!!” 

Shane turned back. “What, kid? We’re kind of in a time-sensitive situation here." 

“The library. The one on Main? There’s a boy that goes there, an Asian boy, always wears a ballcap. Name’s Glenn, with a slave he calls Nicholas. He had the same marks I used to give Daryl. All hand inflicted, nothing on the belly or thighs. You have to find them. They’re looking for a way north.”

“I will,” Shane shouted back over the growl of the engine running and the sirens passing on the street in front of the shop. 

“The library,” Dale said slowly, his mind turning it over like a new-found gem. “Place to go away from sadistic fathers. A place where it’s frowned upon to make noise so there won’t be an expectation to abuse.”

“Glenn and Nicolas.” Rick said again as the car started moving. 

“I’ll find them,” Shane promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up- The Epilogue! :-(
> 
> Sorry there were no good Rickyl feels in this chapter. This one got plot heavy, but I promise to get back to the good stuff in the epilogue.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. Sorry this took longer than it had been for the update. I suddenly got super nervous about it. Hope this turned out ok.

Their first night of freedom was quiet. Aaron dropped them off at a small cabin in the woods late in the day at a safe house that was run by a man named Hershel. Aaron only stayed long enough to grab a bite to eat, then he bid Rick, Daryl and Eric farewell.

Rick and Daryl were given a room to share at the back of the house and after Hershel made sure they had clean towels and fresh sheets, he left them to get Eric situated on the couch in the living room. 

Daryl looked exhausted. Rick knew the altercation with Tobin was still replaying in his mind. The long drive had been mostly quiet, Rick turning back to ask Daryl if he was ok dozens of times only to get brief nods back. They fell asleep together quickly once they’d crawled into bed, Daryl sucking his thumb, his head on Rick’s chest, his body plastered to Rick’s body. Later when the moon was high and the sounds of night wrapped around the cabin like vines, Rick woke to the sight of Daryl pacing the room.

“What’s the matter, beautiful?” Rick asked, his voice thick with sleep. Rick sat up and grabbed the pen and paper from the nightstand, handing it to Daryl as his nervous lover sat back on the bed. Rick rubbed his back as he wrote.

_ScARed dReAms. Not ouR house. Not ouR bed._

“You had a nightmare? It’s ok, I’m here. It was just a bad dream. And I know this place is different. But what we had… it was just a house. Just a bed. The thing that made it ours was us. I’m not worried about any of those things we left behind. All I need is you. We can be brave together up here and start a new life.”

Daryl looked at Rick as he spoke with wide eyes that were memorizing every word, absorbing everything Rick was giving him like his words were water to thirst. Rick guided Daryl to lay down, his lips gently slotting together with Daryl’s like the colors of a sunset seamlessly sliding against each other in the late evening sky. Daryl whimpered as Rick covered his body with his own and rutted against his lover. 

“We’ll protect each other. Take care of each other. We’re all we need,” Rick whispered against Daryl’s parted lips.

**************************  
_Four Months later_

Rick is not an architect. He is a teacher for the underground, teaching newly arriving southern slaves to read and write. It is not what he dreamed of doing when he grew up. It was not what he expected of his life. But he was born for this. For being gentle and patient and supportive. For saving people and for giving people hope.

Rick looked around his classroom. The place was kept under wraps even though they were in the north, in much more tolerant surroundings. Rick now used a different last name, one he had found ages ago scribbled in the pages of Daryl’s owner’s manual. And even though he was Rick Dixon now and he was hidden under a full beard and long waves of hair, they still needed to lay low. According to Aaron, Rick’s picture was still sprawled across Georgia under the words _Wanted for Murder_. 

The north was a different world. Even though owners were allowed to register slaves for freedom, a good 70 percent of the population still had them. Since slaves were so under-educated the freedom paperwork was mostly symbolic. Slaves usually always stayed with their original masters. 

In the north, slaves weren’t used anywhere near the degree that they were used in the south. Torture was not a norm here, it was uncommon and frowned upon. Slaves mostly just cleaned houses and carried groceries. They were also used for sex, which had always been their main purpose, but in the north, it was not customary to share, nor was it customary to do things in public. Humiliation was not widely practiced. There were no Francisco’s in the north. Restaurants allowed patrons to enjoy their meals however the owners and slaves were most comfortable. Some slaves sat obediently on the ground and ate from bowls on the floor. Some were allowed to sit at the table and eat. Rick had yet to see any used in the twisted ways they were violated back in Georgia.

The classroom was quiet. Of course it was. Rick was the only one who knew how to speak. There were currently six slaves in his class plus Daryl who acted as his assistant. He looked around the room to take stock of everyone’s progress for the day. Eric was in the back of the classroom on his knees, head bowed and eyes on the ground. It had been four months and Rick had lost hope of ever getting through to his father’s slave. Daryl had written Rick a note when they were in bed just the other night. 

_ERic is not heRe. He won’t eveR come bAck._

And Rick knew that Daryl was right. But he would continue to feed and praise and care for Eric as long as Eric had breath in his lungs. And as long as Rick had breath in his. 

Daryl was sitting in a seat next one of the newer slaves. Randall had been with them going on two months now and he was young enough that they’d started to see some real promise. Rick mostly did his lessons one-on-one, other slaves just waiting patiently in their seats or obediently flipping through pages of a book. He would start each slave out by reading Goodnight Moon over and over. Then reading and pointing to each word as he said it. Then teaching them how to hold a pencil and write all the words from the book, over and over. Randall had come the furthest so far, other than Daryl of course. Rick watched with a proud smile on his face as Daryl knelt on the chair beside the kid watching closely as Randall wrote. At one point, Daryl gently took the pencil, pointed, erased, wrote something and handed it back to the kid. Randall was practicing a new word. His master’s name. He went by G, so it could have been really easy, but Randall was sharp and Rick decided to teach him the whole thing, so the boy now sat in front of a blocky page of _GUILLERMO_ written over and over. 

Rick stood and walked over to peek at his progress. Daryl looked up at him, smiling and pointing to Randall’s page. Rick could see the eraser marks from where Daryl fixed one of the Guillermo’s.

“He’s smart, Daryl. Isn’t he?” 

Daryl nodded enthusiastically as Randall bit shyly on a nail. 

“I heard from my friends yesterday, Randall. Guillermo will be up for a visit next week. He will be so proud to see you writing his name.”

This time Randall smiled broadly. He picked up his paper and handed it to Rick. “You can give it to him yourself soon,” Rick said as he pet Randall’s hair. “Why don’t we take a break from writing and you can come with me to the sofa. We’ll start reading a new book so you can learn more words. How does that sound? Would you like to learn a new book?” Randall nodded, his eyes downcast again out of habit. 

“Randall, you can look at me anytime I talk to you, ok?” 

He looked up and nodded again. “Do you want to thank Daryl for helping you with your words this morning?”

Randall stood to follow Rick to the reading area, but not before turning to Daryl and fist-bumping him. Daryl had taught all the slaves in class Aaron's fist bump. He also taught all their owners, the people who were running the safe houses and other members of the resistance that would come and go. Daryl wanted to be friends with all of them. 

Rick always made sure to praise Daryl for his help and he made sure to teach all the slaves to appreciate and respect what Daryl had to offer them. It was nothing Rick had to demand of anyone really, because Daryl was a bright light of hope and everyone was drawn to him like candle bugs to a lightbulb. The others in the resistance, the slaves, waiters when they went out to eat, cab drivers. Everyone. Daryl was funny and sweet and he burst with personality even though he couldn’t speak. He was completely unafraid and it was so beautiful to see him like that. To see him interact with the world around him, giving smiles and fistbumps to everyone he encountered and seeing everyone whose path he crossed walk away with more of an optimistic bounce to their step than they originally had. 

When they first arrived in New York, Rick took Daryl to the courthouse to register him as a free man and Daryl threw one holy hell of a fit, falling to the ground and wrapping himself around Rick’s calf, trying to shout no as best he could with a long whining “Nnnnnnnn.” He wanted to belong to Rick. He didn’t want to be away from Rick for a second. He wanted to keep submitting to his master, his love, and although Rick didn't want that to be the total dynamic of their relationship, he would always give Daryl what he wanted. Rick would try again, maybe in another couple months to encourage Daryl to register. It was just a symbol really. Because Daryl was Rick’s and always would be. Rick didn’t think of Daryl as his slave anymore and that helped a little There was no more need for heavy abuse, but Daryl did beg for spankings sometimes. Usually when he was mad at himself for something. Rick tried to guide him into wanting to be consoled instead of spanked but that usually just made Daryl angrier so Rick always acquiesced. Daryl also refused to eat anything unless it was from a bowl on the floor or hand fed directly from Rick. But if that was what made Daryl happy, that was all that truly mattered.

The slaves in class were in varied states of dress. Rick really wanted to encourage them to dress like free men, but since Rick's lover and star pupil outright refused to wear a single stitch of clothes, preferring to walk around naked as a jay bird, it had been a bit of a losing battle. Randall had on jeans at least. Jim managed to stay fully dressed. And Patrick at least showed up fully clothed from his safe house each morning but by mid day he was usually bare with a pile of discarded clothes next to his desk.

Without any direction, Daryl moved to a chair next to Jim and put paper and pencil in front of him. Jim had been learning to write the word “Good”. Daryl wrote “Good” on his paper and then helped get the pencil in Jim’s hand and wrote it with him. Finally after three words together, Jim used the pencil alone and wrote his word. Daryl sat quietly next to him writing the word “Good” as well so he could continue the example.

Halfway through the new book with Randall, Rick heard the sounds of the hall door open and he handed the book to his student and instructed him to at least look at all the words and turn the pages by himself. Shane walked into the classroom looking exhausted from the drive but happy. Daryl jumped out of his chair to fist bump him in greeting and he looked out into the hallway for any newcomers. 

“Sorry, buddy. Didn’t bring you any new friends today. But word on the street is that Aaron will be here in a bit with someone who probably wants to see you,” Shane said. He made his way to the front of the classroom. Rick followed him as Shane came to a stop over Jim, watching him continue writing the word “good”. 

“That’s amazing, Jim. Good job,” he said softly and Jim looked up, a little more brightness in his eyes than normal.

“He’s picking it up, Shane. He can point to all the right words in the book. This is just the start. He’s got promise.” Shane kissed the top of JIm’s head and patted Rick’s shoulder. 

“Thanks, man,” Shane murmured. 

The two men looked over the room. Slaves flipping through books on their desks. Some of them writing. Daryl had taken the seat on the couch next to Randall that Rick had vacated and he was pointing to words and pictures. Pointing to the bunny then the word “bunny”, teaching as best he could without words. 

“I was going to be an architect. I wanted to build things,” Rick said. 

“You are building things,” Shane replied. “Building a new world.”

Rick had Shane sit with Jim and showed him how to read a story and point to the words as he went. Shane came to New York two weekends a month, not just to visit Jim, but to attend owner’s classes that Rick was also holding, teaching how to teach.

After a while, Shane working with Jim and Rick reading on the couch with Daryl and Randall on either side, the hall door opened again. Fridays were always busy days for some reason. 

“Bet that’s for you, bud,” Shane said to Daryl with a wink. 

Daryl jumped up and ran to the classroom door just as Aaron opened it. Walking in behind him was Nicholas. Daryl smiled like a child at Christmas and it melted Rick’s heart. Daryl patted hard on Nicholas’s shoulders and hugged him. He used a finger to lift Nicholas’ chin up, like he’d seen Rick do so many times, forcing eye contact. And he took his hand and started teaching him a fist bump before Rick could even get out of his chair to greet them. 

“Aaron,” Rick said, sincerity and appreciation dripping off his voice. “You found them! Glenn come up with him?” Rick asked looking behind Aaron, hoping for more. 

“No,” Aaron answered and Rick’s heart fell like a boulder. He remembered Glenn’s hopelessness. His despair. Had they been too late to save them both? 

Aaron continued before Rick could even articulate the question. “He’ll be up next week to check in. He’s a pizza delivery guy. You know that? Knows how to get around, navigate roads, get from A to B quickly. He wanted to be part of it. Dale has him doing recon at every library in the county. And after that, he’ll move to the next county.”

Rick nodded. That kid had fighter written all over him and Rick looked forward to the day they could meet again and shake hands.

Aaron went to the back of the classroom and sat down beside Eric like he always did. He talked softly to him and got nothing in return but empty eyes staring at the floor. He never made any demands from him. Rick watched the two of them and then sat down in front of them. “Haven’t had much luck, here, I’m afraid.” Rick said. 

Aaron looked up at Rick and nodded. “I know. I know he’s too far gone. But I sense something in him sometimes. Feel like he knows what we’re doing and he’s happy about it.” 

Rick nodded. 

Aaron turned back to Eric. “Eric, if class isn’t really up your alley, I could use a favor. Heat’s on us. Gave me a hell of a time crossing the border alone. Guards on the south side been told to watch for slave-less men crossing back into the south, thinking we’re coming back from smuggling a slave up north. Which, actually is right in my case,” Aaron laughed. “Thought maybe you could be my partner. Just ride with me up and back on each run. All you gotta do is look out the window and breathe.” 

Eric didn’t respond. 

Rick scooted in and lifted Eric’s chin. “Look at me, Eric.” And he obeyed. But Eric never looked at Rick like Daryl did. Or even like Jim or Randall did. Eric looked through him. Vacant. Just gone. 

“Eric, you are allowed to make a choice. Would you like to go for drives with Aaron? He can tell you stories and you won’t have any pressure to try to learn like when you’re here. It would be a big help to other slaves like you. You would be part of the resistance.” It was futile and Rick knew it, but he was long past ordering slaves and even if it was an empty effort, he had to at least try to give Eric a choice.

“If you don’t have a problem with it, you can go back with him tonight, ok?” Rick said to Eric, ducking his head to try to meet Eric’s unfocused gaze.

Eric didn’t respond. Rick looked to Aaron and nodded. “Take him with you. It’s not doing him any good just sitting in here. I really believe if he could communicate, he’d want to do what he could to help.” 

“Gotta know going in they aren’t all going to be success stories,” Aaron said. 

“Yeah. I know.” 

***********

By winter, Daryl was at least wearing jeans and a shirt, but Rick always had to rip the neck wide and tear the sleeves off for him. According to Daryl, he was suffocating in clothes and might die. He’d become rather dramatic with his new sense of freedom. Usually the clothes were stripped off as soon as they were inside, but Rick appreciated that Daryl tried to acclimate. He knew Daryl trying to dress at all was a thing he did only because he knew Rick wanted him to. So when he removed his clothes and knelt by Rick on the classroom floor, it was because that’s what Daryl wanted and what made Daryl most comfortable, so Rick had long abandoned trying to make him look and act like a free man. He just wanted Daryl to look and act like Daryl.

Rick had been working hard with all the students, and he had the best results with Randall and Nicholas. Some, like Eric, were unreachable. Some could grasp words and write, but couldn’t form their own independent thoughts with written sentences. There were a lot of failures and that made Rick’s days very difficult and often disappointing. But when one of them seemed to take root and grow strong like Daryl had, that was worth everything. And the rest? Well, they just kept trying.

On the morning Guillermo was expected to arrive for good, permanently relocating to New York, Daryl and Randall were laying on their stomachs on the floor writing notes to each other. There were times Rick was jealous that Daryl had so many other people in his life now, but Daryl put a lot of effort into making sure Rick knew he loved him and would always belong to him.

Rick had just finished up a new book with Nicholas and he set up the young man at a table with a pencil and left him with a page of pictures for Nicholas to write words from. Rick walked around the room and looked at everyone’s progress and then he stood over Daryl and Randall to read what had them giggling. 

Daryl- _GuilleRmo will stAy heRe foReveR now like my Rick._

Randall- _YES. RANDALL IS HAPPY._

Daryl- _MAybe GuilleRmo cAn ReAd you books in bed._

Randall- _I CAN READ MY OWN BOOKS NOW._

Daryl- _I still like my mAsteR to ReAd to me._

Randall- _GUILLERMO SAID I CAN HAVE MY FAVORITE FOOD EVERY DAY._

Daryl- _BAcon?_

Randall- _RANDALL DOES NOT LIKE BACON. RANDALL LIKES PINEAPPLE._

Daryl- _RAndAll does not like BAcon?? RAndAll is bRoken!_

At night Rick and Daryl would cook together. Read together. Eat together. They played with Legos a lot, Rick telling Daryl how he once wanted to build things. And how now the idea of working with _things_ seemed so pointless. The best part of their days were the end, alone in bed, Rick talking and Daryl responding with his paper and pencil. On their one year anniversary of freedom, after Rick had surprised Daryl with a night picnic, making love to him in the moonlight like they had done once before a long time ago when they lived in another world, Daryl came to bed with a present wrapped in brightly colored paper with a bow. 

“Where did you get wrapping paper?” Rick asked smiling. 

_GuilleRmo and RAndAll. They aRe my fRiends._

Rick unwrapped it and opened the box. It was a few pieces of paper stapled together with a drawing on the cover of a forest and a lake. That night so long ago had made the same strong impression on Daryl as it had on Rick. 

Rick read his present out loud as Daryl turned the pages.

__  
Good Night, Rick  
by DARyl 

_DARyl is a hAppy slAve. He lives in A big blue Room with no telephone and no bAlloons. DARyl does not like clothes even though his mAsteR wants him too. MAsteR wAnts DARyl to look noRmAl. DARyl is not normal. But he is speciAl. He cAn reAd and write. And he likes to eAt bAcon with his mAsteR._

_DARyl is a lucky slAve. He gets to feel And be. DARyl loves his mAsteR. Even more thAn cookies. MAsteR gives DARyl eveRything. And DARyl gives mAsteR eveRything too. MAsteR’s nAme is Rick. And one dAy DARyl will say it out loud when he leArns to tAlk. DoctoRs sAy DARyl cAn’t leArn to tAlk. But they do not know thAt DARyl is veRy, veRy smART. DAryl loves Rick FoReveR. Good night, Rick. The end._

Rick put the gift back in the box and turned to Daryl, taking his face gently in his hands, looking in his eyes and seeing his own future and his very reason to draw breath. 

“This is the most amazing gift I’ve ever gotten. Christ all I did for you was take you to a moonlit picnic by a lake. You _wrote_ a damn book! You amaze me, Daryl.” Rick kissed him gently. “You amaze me everyday.” Daryl snuggled up to Rick and lightly traced letters onto Rick’s stomach, a way they’d recently devised to be able to talk intimately in bed. Daryl traced I LOVE YOU RICK, slowly stopping between words to press a kiss to Rick’s chest. 

Rick’s cell rang as they intertwined limbs and twisted themselves into the strewn sheets, all lips and tongues and hands and soft breaths. Rick desperately wanted to ignore it, but Daryl was very dedicated to the resistance and he grabbed it, hit answer and held the phone to Rick’s ear. 

“Yeah,” Rick said.

“I’ve got news. I’m calling everyone, telling them to meet at your classroom in an hour,” it was Glenn’s voice. Glenn had become a heavy hitter with the resistance. 

“Trouble?”

“Opportunity.”

“Give me some motivation to climb out of this bed. It’s our one-year anniversary of freedom tonight, you know.”

“Congrats, man. Tell Daryl hi.”

Rick cupped the phone. “Glenn says hi,” he told Daryl, who was now laying quietly, head on the pillow sucking his thumb and likely hearing every word Glenn was saying on the phone. 

Glenn continued, “You know my friend in the medical field?” he asked.

Rick thought back- “Dr. Carson, yeah,” Rick answered as he leaned over to Daryl, tugged out his thumb, kissed him and put his thumb back in. Daryl giggled.

“He’s on his way to meet with us. News from the breeding houses. The female birth rate is at 20%. Has been for years. Not 3% like the media has been reporting for the past five decades.”

Rick sat up and Daryl mimicked his move, dropping his thumb and furrowing his brows.

“We talking about trying to liberate women now, too? We still haven't made a dent in the freedom of slavery movement.”

“I know you Rick. You don't want to leave anyone behind. We’re just going to have to find a way to do both. One hour at the school. You guys need to be there. The new world is gonna need Rick and Daryl Dixon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you who commented, asked questions, kudo'd, bookmarked, got excited for updates, etc. This was a lot of fun to write and I hope I ended it ok. Hope you all enjoyed the ride.
> 
> I left this kinda open in case I ever got the craving to visit these characters again in a sequel, but this is officially the end of this particular story.
> 
> Cheers, mates! And thanks so much for your support!
> 
>  
> 
> \----Update!!! Msbt has done a series of drawings to this fic!!!
> 
> You can see them here:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/5483717/chapters/14191822
> 
> Thanks to Sunny for asking Msbt to draw them and thanks so much to Msbt! They are amazing! Better than I could have imagined!!! And they literally brought me to tears!
> 
> UPDATE AGAIN (3/24/16)-
> 
> Hillbilly_with_a_heart_of_Gold CREATED the Goodnight Rick book!!! Check it out at http://archiveofourown.org/works/6339388/chapters/14523970?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#comment_56007154
> 
> I couldn't be more excited for these amazing gifts to my fic. 
> 
> Also- any of you who enjoyed this story would probably also love Hillbilly's fic, "Use Your Words". Check it out at http://archiveofourown.org/works/5965312/chapters/13709362


End file.
